


Perfect Enemy

by ParadiseAvenger



Category: Mortal Instruments Series - Cassandra Clare
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-12
Updated: 2014-02-24
Packaged: 2017-12-26 08:52:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 45
Words: 122,317
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/963999
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ParadiseAvenger/pseuds/ParadiseAvenger
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jace had waited for years for Valentine Morgenstern's capture, anticipating his revenge for his parents' brutal murder. When Valentine's daughter is caught instead, she isn't half the monster Jace had expected. Or is she? Adult Themes. Slight AU. Secret Pairing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Morgenstern's Arrival

Please, check out my first ORIGINAL NOVEL! **The Breaking of Poisonwood by Paradise Avenger.** (Summary: People were dead. When Skye Davis bought me at a slave auction as a birthday present for his brother, I had no idea what my new life was going to be like, but I had never expected this. It all started when Venus de Luna was killed and I was to take her place, to become the new savior… Then, bad things happened and some people died. In the heart of the earth, we discovered the ancient being that Frank Davis had found and created and used to his advantage. The Poisonwood—)

...

I just finished reading the first book for this series and I watched the movie (which I liked) so I of course had to write some fanfiction for it.

X X X

It was early when Jace Wayland (1) was woken from a dead sleep by the very thing he had spent years training himself to sense. Infused with more angel blood and demonic malice than was natural for any Shadowhunter, he sensed Morgenstern’s blood. It felt like smoke slinking through the deepest halls of the Institute, invading his home like a plague. Immediately, Jace threw himself out of bed, grabbed up his favorite Seraph blade, and ran out into the hallway.

Heart pounding, he raced through the halls of the Institute and cleared the stairs in one leap. His bare feet were soundless save for a soft slap as he landed on the cool marble. Gripping the blade low at his side, he peered around the corner in the direction where he sensed Morgenstern’s presence. There were five shadowed figures at the bend in the hallway, murmuring so quietly that Jace couldn’t make out what they were saying. The figure at the center of the five stank of Morgenstern’s blood. 

Jace’s fingers tightened on the hilt of his blade and he prepared to leap into the fray. He wouldn’t allow Morgenstern to invade his home and take anything else away from any of the people he loved. He took a deep breath, curled his toes against the cold marble, and jumped out from behind the corner where he had been crouched in dead silence. Jace was the perfect predator—he had been training for this exact moment for years—yet it was a simple matter for everything to change.

The Silent Brother turned, lifting a gnarled hand, and spoke directly into Jace’s mind. ‘Stop, young Wayland.’

Jace skidded to a halt, his bare feet not finding any purchase until he nearly collided with the Silent Brother. “What?” he demanded, heart still pumping out adrenaline that hadn’t yet reached his brain. “But that’s Morgenstern! I can tell!”

‘Yes,’ the Silent Brother said. ‘It is.’

One of the other shadowed figures summoned witchlight from his palm, illuminating all the faces of the five assembled in the hallway save that of the Silent Brother. Hodge Starkweather studied Jace, his face lined with concern for his young charge. Two other Shadowhunters that Jace didn’t recognize—a woman with platinum hair and a man with far too much scraggly beard—stood behind Hodge. Between them so that they each held one of the binding chains was Morgenstern.

Jace leaned in, his breath coming short with mingled eagerness and rage.

But Hodge lifted the witchlight, angling it so it could fall over the face of the prisoner between the two other Shadowhunters. Standing in chain was not Jace’s greatest and most hated enemy. It was not Valentine Morgenstern. 

In fact, the prisoner didn’t look like a treacherous foe at all. It was a young girl, maybe Jace’s age, and the side of her face was covered in dried blood. One of her bright green eyes was swollen shut and her lip was split. Her hair was the color of old blood and tangled violently. She didn’t look capable of harming anyone or of being part of Valentine’s Circle. She was scrawny and she was short. Even so, Jace knew what he sensed.

“She’s a Morgenstern?” he demanded of Hodge.

Hodge nodded, but it was the Silent Brother who spoke. ‘She is Valentine’s daughter, Clarissa Morgenstern.’

Jace couldn’t speak. For years he had wanted to have Valentine in front of him. He had fantasized about plunging his blade into his enemy’s heart, about ripping him limb from limb with all the fruits of his Shadowhunter training, about watching him suffer, about watching him die slowly and painfully. But now…

“Why is she here?” Jace hissed, stuffing his blade out of sight. 

‘To be interrogated and imprisoned until something can be decided,’ the Silent Brother said shortly. Then, without further explanation, he turned and spoke silently into the minds of the other two Shadowhunters. Without looking back, the three of them guided the prisoner down the hallway.

It was Hodge who lingered, his witchlight illuminating dark spots of blood that stained the floor where the girl had been standing. “Go back to bed, Jace,” he said cautiously. “We can talk about this in the morning, okay?”

Jace didn’t agree immediately but he knew Hodge was right. Instead, he asked, “She’ll still be here in the morning?”

Hodge nodded. “She should be here for a few weeks. We’re the closest Institute to the Silent City and also the emptiest. The Brothers will be traveling back and forth to interrogate her and they wanted her kept nearby, but also under protection and secrecy. We don’t want Valentine taking her back.”

The name hung in the air between them like a coiled snake, ready to strike.

Jace eyed his mentor. “Will she still be alive in the morning?”

Hodge tried not to let the surprise show on his face. He knew Jace was wrathful when it came to Valentine Morgenstern, but he had never expected the boy’s wrath to extend to a girl his own age merely because she was Valentine’s daughter. He had thought Jace’s hatred was more contained than that and this worried him. “Jace,” he began.

Jace cut him off with a wave of his hand. “Never mind,” he said, “I’ll see you in the morning then.”

“Jace,” Hodge tried again, but the boy had already gone beyond the perimeter of the witchlight and vanished into the darkness. Barefoot, his steps were silent and he was gone like a ghost. 

Knowing a Morgenstern was under his roof made it impossible to sleep. Instead, Jace lay awake for hours, teasing the edge of his Seraph blade between his fingers. He would have gotten out of bed and wandered the Institute as he usually did when he couldn’t sleep, but he knew his feet would lead him right to the holding cells in the basement. If the Silent Brother caught him prowling there after Valentine’s daughter, there would be hell to pay.

The blade hummed, thirsty for Morgenstern blood, and Jace couldn’t help but understand its feelings. He could still sense the black presence of Valentine’s daughter lurking in the basement like some kind of hideously spreading mold. He rolled over, staring at the array of weapons on his nightstand. Maybe tomorrow, he could use one of his favorite weapons on Valentine’s daughter. It would be a nice little taste of the vengeance he wanted to visit upon Valentine.

…

Jace had finally dozed off around four in the morning and as such woke up later than usual. In his pajamas, he made his way to the Institute’s large kitchen and found that Alec and Isabelle were already awake. Alec had dressed already and was looking as ready as ever. Isabelle, on the other hand, was proudly displaying her ability to look good in anything and under any circumstances. 

“Morning,” Jace said to them both as he took the carton of orange juice from the fridge.

For a moment, neither of his friends answered and he cautiously ran a hand over his hair. Was it sticking straight up or something? Finding all to be in order, Jace turned to face them, giving them both a sternly inquiring look. “What’s with the silent treatment?”

It was Alec who looked away first and Isabelle who asked him, “Didn’t you hear?”

“About what?” Jace asked.

Isabelle looked nervous, glancing into her tea.

Alec broke in. “They caught Valentine’s daughter and brought her here.”

Jace rolled his shoulders and poured himself a glass of juice. “Yeah, I know,” he said nonchalantly.

Isabelle’s head snapped up, dark curls tumbling over her bare shoulders. “You already knew?”

“Yeah,” he explained. “It woke me up last night when she was brought in.”

“Jace,” Isabelle ventured. “Are you going to be okay? I mean, Valentine—”

“Butchered my parents?” Jace cut in as sharply as any blade. “Yeah, I’ll be fine. Even better when they catch that bastard and make him pay for what he did. His daughter should be a nice bargaining chip and a good source of information.” There was a cruel glint in Jace’s golden eyes that was thoroughly that of a predator, but belonged to no animal that Alec had ever seen. It was a humanistic gleam—the only animal who killed for pleasure.

“Jace,” Alec interrupted, but Jace smoothly changed the subject.

“So, we should get some training done today. I need to take my mind off this whole mess,” he said and lifted a hand to run through his hair. Just like that, the terrible flash was gone from his eyes and he smiled charmingly. “Maybe I can kick your ass, Isabelle.”

She bristled, never one to back down from a challenge. “You are so on!” She jumped up from her seat, clearly prepared to get started right away now that her pride had been called into it.

But Jace lazily took a carton of eggs from the fridge and moved towards the stove without looking at her. He took out a pan and cracked several eggs into it, watching them sizzle over the heat while Isabelle sizzled behind him.

“Jace,” she demanded.

“After breakfast, Isabelle,” he said. “You’d better eat or your chest will get smaller.”

Her fist sailed harmlessly past his ear since he had angled his head just enough to avoid it. 

Alec snorted and began removing sausages from the fridge along with some bagels. “Must you tease her, Jace?”

“Certainly,” he said smoothly. “It’s good for my ego.”

Flipping back her dark curls, Isabelle didn’t dignify that with a response and instead stalked away from the stove to allow the two boys to prepare breakfast. It was better for her ego that way. She sat at the table, watching them work closely together, and couldn’t help but smile. The three of them, despite their differences, really did make a great team.

…

Hodge didn’t want to talk to Jace about Valentine’s daughter so he had made himself scarce all that morning, aiding the Silent Brothers as best he could. He had expected Jace to bury himself in the routine of training for the day, venting his aggression in as healthy a way as he could, but he had not excepted to find Jace in the library as the day drew to a close. The boy had showered and changed, eaten dinner with Isabelle and Alec, and now he was ready for his promised talk.

“Has the Silent Brother left?” Jace asked, his arms folded over his chest as he leaned on the threshold of the library.

“For tonight, yes,” Hodge said tiredly.

“How’d it go with Morgenstern’s daughter?”

“Jace,” Hodge began.

“I want to see her,” Jace interrupted immediately. 

“What? No, you can’t—”

“Hodge, Valentine murdered my parents. I want to see her.”

“You can’t kill her, Jace!”

His golden eyes flashed. “Who said I would?”

“I know you’re upset and I know how much you hate Valentine, but you can’t kill her. She’s too important.”

Jace rolled his eyes. “Hodge, I’m not going to kill her. Why do you always have to assume the worst of me?”

Hodge eyed his young ward, shame and worry welling up in his chest. He didn’t know the depths of Jace’s hatred. He didn’t know was Jace would do if he got close to Clarissa Morgenstern. Would he kill her? Would he torture her? Would he do nothing at all? 

The raven perched on his shoulder ruffled his feathers and gave a plaintive caw as if to say that he would rather see Valentine’s daughter dead just as Jace did. Hodge shushed Hugo, stroking his sleek feathers. “Jace,” he said again.

“Five minutes,” Jace broke in. “Give me five minutes.”

Hodge sighed heavily. Little could be done for suffering children and since Jace had seen his father butchered before his eyes, there had always been very little that Hodge could do for the boy. He often merely indulged him in the things he wanted and did his best to raise Jace into a good person. Sometimes, he wondered if anything he did had done any good. “Alright,” he relented.

Jace smiled in a way that said he’d always known he would get what he wanted.

Hodge removed the key to the dungeons from a ring at his hip, turned his back to Jace, and drew a small rune on the key’s stem. “Be back here with this key in ten minutes before the rune wears off,” he said firmly. “If not, you won’t be getting out of the dungeons tonight and the Silent Brothers can decide what to do with you when they come in tomorrow.” Jace had always been creeped out by the Silent Brothers so that was the best threat Hodge could muster.

“Yeah, sure,” Jace said and eagerly took the key from Hodge. He turned on his heel and hurried from the library, footsteps light.

“Oh, Hugo,” Hodge murmured to the bird. “What should I do with that boy?”

The bird cawed in response, but if he had a good idea, Hodge didn’t understand it. He moved to the window and looked out over the city of New York. It was raining outside, the night sky was dark and moonless, and all the silly humans hurried about beneath their umbrellas without a clue about what went on behind the veil that their eyes could not see through.

X X X

(1) I know this guy has about forty-five last names so I’m just going to stick with the one I got from the first book.

Questions, comments, concerns?

Review!


	2. Meeting and Distractions

Let’s see here… This story will be updated every Monday, so check back.

X X X

Jace hadn’t had occasion to go into the dungeons before but he didn’t waste time looking around. Honestly, they were what he had expected except they weren’t lit by torches and there weren’t guards at every corner. Beneath the Institute, buried in the basement where the walls were cold and stony, were many cells sunken into the walls with heavy bars. Some were made of silver, others iron, and some were decorated with symbols to contain whatever was inside. All the cells were empty save one.

Inside it was Morgenstern’s daughter. 

She looked just as Jace had seen her the previous night—battered, bloody, scrawny, weak… She looked up when she heard his footsteps and the only thing the least bit remarkable about her was her bright green eyes. They very nearly glowed in the dark, but one eye was swollen shut and lessened the effect. It was hard to believe this was the child of his greatest enemy. 

“So you’re Morgenstern’s daughter?” Jace said, coiling his fingers around the bars and peering through the shadows at her.

She didn’t answer and turned away from him, curling further into the corner of the wall.

Jace was never one to be ignored and slapped his hand down hard on the light switch. Painfully bright fluorescent light filled the small cell and the girl flinched, pressing herself as tightly as she could against the wall. At first, Jace thought she was trying to ignore him and debated taking the small blade from his boot to throw at her. The thought of the Silent Brothers coming the next day and how disappointed Hodge would be stayed his hand. Instead, he looked at her closer and realized that while he thought she was curling into the corner to hide, it might have been for another reason entirely.

Her bare feet and hands were tinged blue with cold, her entire body trembled badly, and there was blood all over her. Her wrists and ankles were circled with bruises and chains, she had been tethered to the wall, and her clothes were tattered. Through the torn fabric, he could see that her body was in much the same state as her face. In blood, she had drawn tiny pictures on the stone floor and walls—little happy images that young children might have drawn.

Jace shook himself harshly, tightening his grip on the key. It was foolish to even think about pitying her. She was a Valentine’s daughter. This was all probably an act and it was a darn good one. If people began to pity this pathetic little girl, they would let their guard down. She was a Morgenstern and certainly she would know exactly what to do when a Shadowhunter lowered their guard around her.

“Pretty clever, little bitch, I’ll give you that,” Jace snarled at her.

She flinched at his voice, drawing her legs close to her chest and wrapping her arms around them.

“You’d better tell the Silent Brothers what they want. The sooner you do and they get a hold of your daddy, the sooner you can both die in peace,” he said malevolently. 

She didn’t answer, didn’t even look at him.

Jace slammed his hands down on the bars, gritting his teeth when the sturdy iron punished him for his quick temper. He leaned in as close as the bars would allow, snarling, “By the Angel, I hope they let me kill you in front of your father. It would be the perfect revenge after what he made me watch.”

A pathetic little sound escaped the girl.

Jace threw himself back from the bars since his time here was drawing to a close. As angry as he was, as much as he wanted to hurt her, he wasn’t willing to risk being caught by the Silent Brothers the next morning. He slapped off the bright lights, plunging the cell into darkness. After so much potent brightness, it took a moment for his eyes to adjust. In the short moment that he waited, the girl spoke the most wretched little plea.

“Please,” she whispered. “Please, leave the lights on…”

Jace’s lip curled with disgust. He didn’t even answer her. He just left, extinguishing each light he passed. Then, he slammed the door behind him, hoping she was plunged into the deepest and most terrible darkness the world had to offer. Jace Wayland would never pity an enemy—especially not a Morgenstern.

…

Alec was passing by when Jace blew out of the library like a storm with no place to go. His face was white, his eyes glowing like coals, and he didn’t even see Alec. Alec watched his friend go with concern and then cautiously pushed open the door to the library in time to see Hodge slump into a chair in exhaustion.

“Hodge?” Alec asked.

The raven cawed at him, fluttering from Hodge’s shoulder to his perch beside the desk. 

“Come in, Alec,” Hodge said and his voice was even more tired than his expression.

“Did something happen? I just saw Jace.”

“Yes,” Hodge sighed. “Jace… I should have never let him see her.”

“Morgenstern’s daughter?” Alec asked.

Hodge nodded. “So often, I don’t know what to do with that boy.”

“You shouldn’t have let him see her—you know how much he hates Valentine. Is that why he blew out like that?” Alec asked.

Hodge rubbed at the scar on his face. “He wants to be part of the group that interrogates her, but I refused.”

“Why?” Alec knew how long Jace had waited for the day when the Institute would catch Valentine Morgenstern. “You know he’s seen worse, Hodge.”

“I know, but… there’s some kind of block in Clarissa Morgenstern’s mind. It was probably put there by her father in case she was ever captured by Shadowhunters. The Silent Brothers cannot access her mind to discover any of Valentine’s secrets. We will only learn something from her if she speaks and she won’t so they’ve begun to torture her. Still, she doesn’t speak of her father.”

Alec ran his fingers over the healing rune on his arm. Though the injury had healed almost completely, he could still feel the phantom pain deep in his muscles. “She and Valentine must be close,” he said after a long moment.

“Perhaps,” Hodge said. “But I don’t want Jace to see that. I’m afraid he might… delight in it.”

Alec wanted to disagree, to defend his friend, and to give his mentor some comfort that the boy he had raised was not a wrathful monster, but he couldn’t. He and Jace were closer than brothers and he knew Jace hated Valentine too much. It wasn’t healthy and it could easily become dangerous.

“Keep an eye on him for me, Alec,” Hodge said. “You and Isabelle both.”

Alec nodded. “We will.”

“Get some rest. I’m sure Jace will want to train again tomorrow,” Hodge said. “He needs to take his mind off of this Morgenstern business. Why don’t you go on patrol with him tomorrow? Maybe the fresh air will clear his head.”

“I’ll try,” Alec promised, but he wasn’t sure how well he could control Jace. Once Jace set his mind to something, nothing short of a debilitating injury could stop him and Alec didn’t have the heart to cripple his friend for even a few minutes. Then, he bid Hodge goodnight and exited the library. The door closed softly at his back like a voiceless whisper.

…

It was still raining the next morning when Jace met Alec and Isabelle in the entrance foyer of the Institute. Each carried their favorite weapons and had marked themselves with fresh runes for the patrol. Lesser demons were all over the city and Shadowhunters usually only went out on a hunt if the demons were in a frenzy of destruction. Mostly, demons kept their activities quiet until they were called upon by another—killing only what they needed to survive, slinking about in the shadows, and generally going bump in the night.

“Tell me again why we’re doing this, Alec?” Jace demanded. He had dark circles beneath his eyes, probably unable to sleep while sharing a roof with Morgenstern’s daughter.

“Because Hodge asked us to,” Alec said again.

“But nothing’s going on,” Jace said and his voice was petulantly close to whining. “The demons have all been quiet lately.”

Alec glanced over at Isabelle, exasperated.

“That could just mean they’re up to something,” Isabelle said and shot her brother a wink. “Valentine could be up to something. Don’t you want to check it out, Jace?”

Immediately, Jace’s expression brightened with eagerness and anger. “What are we waiting for? Let’s go.”

Isabelle patted Alec on the arm as she followed Jace out into the rain. She had always been better at handling Jace than he was—and she handled her brother with just as much ease. Alec brought up the rear behind them, closing the door of the Institute tightly and glancing up at the library windows. They were empty of Hodge, but Hugo was perched on the sill. The raven cawed loudly as if to bid them farewell.

Isabelle had always said that hunting demons was to Jace what sex was to other people. It relaxed him and helped him sleep at night and strengthened his bonds with her and Alec. Alec had always thought Jace enjoyed the fight for the injuries he inevitably gained. Even with healing runes, the pain remained for a few hours and that helped Jace keep his mind off some of the darker and more painful aspects of his life. Either way, fighting was the easiest way to keep Jace occupied for a few hours and usually promised him a good night’s sleep.

…

The trio trudged through the rain for most of the day. They had collectively knocked off about sixteen low-level demons mostly unscathed. Isabelle had gotten caught by some claws and had a few scratches on her stomach, but she was more concerned about the rips in her shirt. Jace had put himself in harm’s way more times than Alec cared to count and had earned himself a fair few injuries. Alec, trying to protect him, was worse for the wear than Jace was which was a great source of guilt for Jace at the moment. 

It never ceased to amaze Alec how Jace could be scathingly wrathful and dangerous one moment and genuinely repentant and gentle the next. He had Alec’s arm looped over his shoulder as he half-dragged half-carried his friend back into the Institute. 

Isabelle hurried along in front of them, laden with weapons and opening doors. She swung open the door to the infirmary, dumped all the weapons down on an empty bed, and immediately began taking down herbs. The runes Jace had tried using hadn’t done much and Alec was going to need a little more help to finish healing. 

“I’m sorry, Alec,” Jace murmured as he pressed his Stele to the healing rune he had already drawn on Alec’s arm. The jagged claw marks trembled, crept another millimeter closer to healing, and then stopped again. “We’ll get you all fixed up.”

“Stop it with the runes already, Jace,” Isabelle scolded and handed him a mortar in pestle. “Grind that.”

He began immediately, blood seeping between his fingers from his own injury. Guilty, Jace worked hard at the herbs as Isabelle got out a few rolls of bandages. She sat down at Alec’s feet and began rolling up his pant leg so he could examine the bite on his calf. Luckily, the demon that had bitten him was non-venomous and the wound was merely ugly.

“By the Angel, Alec,” Isabelle muttered and took the bowl from Jace. “Do you always have to get so beat up?”

He grinned, wincing as Isabelle spread the herbal paste on the bite. “I’m just that kind of guy,” he said. “Ow, Izzy! Gentle would be nice!”

“Here,” Jace said and held out his hand. “Let me.”

Isabelle shook her head. “You look at that hand recently, Jace?”

He glanced at it. There was a jagged slash across his palm which he had bound with a handkerchief. After mashing the herbs, it was bleeding again. “What about it?”

Isabelle sighed. “Clean that hand up, Jace,” she said sternly. “Then, you can help Alec. At this point, you’re just going to bleed all over him.”

“I’m fine,” Jace assured her, reaching for the herbs and bandages. 

Isabelle let him have them, but batted his hands away from Alec. “No, Jace,” she said again. “Wrap that hand. I’m sure there will still be some injuries left over when you get back.”

Jace’s expression crumpled. “Alec, I—”

“I’m fine, Jace,” Alec interrupted, giving Jace a thin smile as Isabelle began wrapping his leg. “Really! Now, listen to Isabelle—take care of your hand and then you can help take care of me.”

Jace rose from the side of the bed and went to the sink. He peeled off the hanky, tossed it into the trash, and ran hot water over the injury. He hissed, watching the blood swirl down the drain guiltily. Why was it that when he did something brash in battle, Alec was always the one who got hurt? 

Isabelle came up as his back, derailing his train of thought. She gripped his wrist in her warm fingers, turning his slashed hand over. “That looks nasty,” she said.

“Yeah, it’s the only flaw on my otherwise perfect physique,” Jace muttered.

She rolled her eyes, shut off the steaming water, and dabbed the last of the herbs into the wound. “Wrap it up, pretty boy,” she told him firmly. 

After she dumped the mortar and pestle into the sink, she returned to Alec’s bedside. She studied the gash on his cheek, turning his head this way and that with her fingertips. Jace joined her at Alec’s side, plastering a band-aid over the scratch without a word. 

“Alec, I’m sorry,” Jace said again.

Alec caught Jace’s hand before he could add another band-aid to his face, giving it a light squeeze. “I’m fine, really, but I could use a little snack.”

“Coming right up,” Jace said with a thin smile. “Do you want a sandwich or something sweet?” 

“Surprise me,” Alec said smoothly.

Jace exited the room like a shadow, closing the door softly behind himself.

“Alec,” Isabelle scolded as soon as Jace’s footsteps faded. “Don’t be so easy-going. You’re hurt! Jace needs to learn to be more careful or he’s going to keep getting you hurt.”

“He knows that, Izzy,” Alec said. “Don’t you see his face? He feels guilty enough already.”

“He always does,” Isabelle sighed, folding her arms under her breasts. “But it doesn’t change his behavior. He still rushes in blind, leaving you to protect his back. How’s he going to feel if you get seriously hurt? If you’re crippled for life? Or if you die?”

Alec flexed his arm and sat up in bed. He didn’t have an answer for his sister. “He cares, Isabelle,” he said finally.

“I know he cares,” Isabelle said, exasperated. “That’s not the point!”

“Then what is, Isabelle?”

She sank down on the bed, leaning back against his shoulder. “I don’t know,” she breathed out softly. “It’s just… I’m worried about Jace. His obsession with Valentine isn’t healthy. He can be so hateful that sometimes I’m worried he’s going to turn on us.”

Alec coiled his arm around her, hugging her tightly. “He’ll never turn on us. We’re the only family he has.”

“But is that enough?” Isabelle whispered. “I mean, Morgenstern’s daughter is in the basement and all Jace can think about is taking revenge on her for what her father did.”

Before Alec could respond, the infirmary door swung open and Jace entered carrying a mixed tray of all Alec’s favorite foods and several cans of soda. He settled the tray down on the nightstand, cracked open a can, and handed it to Alec.

“Yikes, Jace,” Isabelle said and hoped her cheer didn’t sound as forced as it felt. “Wouldn’t it have been easier to bring up the whole fridge?”

“I considered it,” Jace said and if he noticed anything in Isabelle’s voice, he didn’t mention it.

“Thanks, Jace.” Alec took a long drink and smiled at his friend.

“Yeah,” Jace murmured. “No problem. Anyway, I’m going to hit the shower. I can’t see my pretty face under all this grime.” He turned away, but hesitated in the threshold, looking back at his two closest friends as if he suspected they had been talking about him. “You’ll let me know if you need anything else, right?” he asked suddenly, voice as thin as paper.

“Of course,” Alec said quickly, always eager to reassure him.

“Jace,” Isabelle began, but he was already gone.

X X X

Questions, comments, concerns?

Review!


	3. Guilt that Lingers

This chapter is for Subconscious_Melody, who is my only lovely reviewer. I love you!

X X X

It was after Jace got out of the shower that he realized the smoldering presence of Valentine’s daughter had diminished greatly in the basement. He could still sense her there, but it was weak—the pulse of it fading. Was that little Morgenstern planning something? Concealing her presence so that she could escape? He dried himself quickly, yanked his soiled demon-hunting clothing back on, grabbed up his nearest blade, and ran to the basement door. It was only once he arrived there that he realized he didn’t have the key—Hodge did.

Cursing, he scrawled a rune on the door and prayed it would open. For a long moment, nothing happened and Jace whirled around to run to Hodge’s library and get the key when the door finally ground open. The lights he had shut off in his rage the night before had been turned on again, illuminating the stone steps brightly. Jace flew down them, realizing he hadn’t pulled his boots back on in his haste to check on the prisoner. He bolted down the hallway, whispering strength into his weapon.

But when he turned the corner to Clarissa Morgenstern’s cell, she wasn’t trying to escape at all. In fact, she looked hardly capable of standing never mind trying to escape a Shadowhunter Institute. 

She was lying on her side like a ragdoll, limbs and hair splayed as if she had been dropped from a great height. Her wrists and ankles were still chained to the stone wall, the thin skin circled with hideous bruises and dried blood. Her shirt had been ripped off and her torso remained naked though she had her back to Jace. The curves of her ribcage were terribly visible as if she hadn’t eaten well in weeks and her entire back was covered long jagged wounds that spanned beneath the waistband of her jeans. She must have been whipped as well as beaten. 

Jace turned on the bright overhead lights, further illuminating the girl’s damaged body. “Hey,” he shouted at her, reminding himself that she was Valentine’s daughter and that she was plying for pity. “Are you dead?”

“No,” she whispered.

Jace leaned back from the bars, pocketing the weapon he had brought down with him. “You know you’re just making this harder on yourself,” he told her bitterly.

She didn’t answer, merely coiled her arm over the front of her naked chest so that Jace could see her pale hand peeking over her ribs.

“By the Angel,” he hissed and he liked to think that he only pitied her—only played right into her hands—because Alec had been injured earlier and Jace was still feeling hideously guilty. It looked as if all the fingers on the girl’s visible hand had been fractured, each finger twisted at an unnatural angle, but it was hard to see through all the blood. “Are your fingers broken?” he asked her as he felt around his pockets for his Stele. “Let me see.”

“No!” she protested with more vehemence then he thought she’d have left in her. “No! Please, stop hurting me! I don’t know anything!”

“Your fingers are broken!” Jace shouted at her. “I just want to help you, stupid girl!”

She sat up sharply, scrambling weakly into the corner of her cell. “That’s what that other Shadowhunter said! And look what he did to me!” She nearly lifted her arm from her small breasts, but quickly turned her nudity against the wall. “What is this?” she whispered so softly that Jace could barely hear. “The good cop, bad cop routine…”

Jace’s eyes narrowed. “What did you say?”

But she didn’t speak any further, even when he shouted at her. Then, realizing how weak he had acted by trying to help the enemy, Jace whirled away from her. What did he care if she rotted away down here in the dark with all her fingers broken? It was of no concern to him. In fact, he should have been happy that Valentine’s spawn was getting exactly what was coming to her. He should have been delighted. He should have been overjoyed. He should have been dancing on the rooftops naked and dipped in gravy.

But—and he told himself because it was Alec had been hurt and he was still feeling guilty—why did he keep thinking of her broken fingers and feeling pity like a stone in his chest?

…

Since Alec had been injured just the day before and Isabelle had been up half the night with him, Jace had the kitchen all to himself the next morning. He brewed a pot of coffee and left a few cups in reserve for Isabelle and Alec when they got up. Keeping one mug for himself, he poured a second for Hodge and grabbed an apple to share with the raven. He carried all these things to the library, hoping Hodge was there and not in the dungeon with Clarissa Morgenstern and the Silent Brothers yet.

Luck was on his side and he found Hodge pouring over a book that detailed Valentine’s Uprising. Hugo cawed loudly when Jace entered, his beady black eyes focusing in on the apple greedily. Hodge looked up as well and was far more taken with the coffee than he was with the fruit. He looked like he had been up all night and Jace said so.

Hodge laughed humorlessly. “In my youth, I could be up for several nights in a row, but I find that in my old age, it’s incredibly obvious that I’ve had no sleep.” He accepted the mug of coffee and took a deep swallow, but his mouth quirked with displeasure. “Really, Jace? Sugar?”

Jace’s brow wrinkled and he took a sip from the mug still in his hand. “Ugh, black,” he said.

The two of them switched mugs, each delighting in the coffee the precise way they liked it. Jace perched on the edge of Hodge’s desk, took out a small dagger, and began carving up the apple. Hugo came eagerly over immediately, waiting for his little treats.

“How’s it going with the Morgenstern girl?” Jace asked Hodge.

Hodge sighed, putting aside both his coffee and his book. “Jace, did you go down there last night?”

Because there was no sense in lying, Jace nodded. “Yeah,” he explained. “When I go out of the shower, I noticed the Morgenstern’s presence had diminished. I went downstairs to make sure she wasn’t planning some ridiculous escape attempt or something.”

“Did you break her fingers?” Hodge asked sternly.

Jace’s brow wrinkled. “What? No,” he said. “She was already like that when I got down there.”

“Jace,” Hodge warned firmly. “Your temper is dangerous. Now, tell me the truth, did you attack her last night?”

“No,” Jace said again with sternness equal to Hodge’s.

Hodge ran a hand through his hair. As much as he hated to admit it, he knew Jace wouldn’t have been stupid enough to leave such an obvious injury if he was going to hurt Valentine’s daughter. “Alright,” he said heavily. “I believe you. Do you know who hurt her?”

Jace rolled his shoulders. “She said something about another Shadowhunter, but I don’t know who,” he said.

Hodge sat down at his desk, plucking a large piece of apple from Jace’s fingers and eating it as he passed. Hugo squawked indignantly at him, all his feathers fluffing up in challenge, and Jace gave him another piece of apple to cool his nerves. 

“Don’t fuss,” he told the bird. “There’s plenty.”

Hugo didn’t seem to think so and hopped protectively onto Jace’s thigh, guarding what remained of the apple from Hodge. Smiling at the antics of his pet, Hodge reached to stroke the bird’s feathers, but earned himself a petulant peck for his efforts.

“Beast,” he said and pressed the knuckle into his mouth.

“So, does it matter who did that to her?” Jace asked his mentor.

“I suppose not,” Hodge said. “The Silent Brothers will do worse to her if she doesn’t start talking soon.”

“Do you think it’s possible that she doesn’t know anything?” Jace asked suddenly.

Hodge looked startled, as if the idea hadn’t occurred to him, but schooled his expression after a moment. “She has such a large block in her mind, strong enough to keep out even the Silent Brothers, so she must know something otherwise why would Valentine go through all the effort?”

And that was something that hadn’t occurred to Jace. He fed the last piece of apple to Hugo and dropped the core into the trash. Silence spread between them for a long moment, broken only by the distant human chatter outside the Institute as the blind creatures passed by.

“How’s Alec?” Hodge asked finally.

“He’ll be fine,” Jace said. “He just needs to rest up a little. I used too many healing runes on his wounds yesterday.”

Hodge eyed Jace’s bandaged hand. “And on yourself?”

Jace slid his hand into his pocket, hiding the injury. “I’m fine. It’s nothing.”

“Are you punishing yourself?” Hodge asked.

Jace shot him a look that would have turned a lesser man to stone and left the library without answering. Hodge’s words kept playing in his head—why would Valentine go through all the effort of putting a powerful block in his daughter’s mind if she didn’t know anything? And that little bitch had managed to make Jace pity her to the point that he had considered healing her broken fingers. Well, he would make her pay for that tenfold. 

…

It was difficult for Jace to occupy himself for the rest of the day without anyone to train with. He boxed a little bit, but the punching bag was an easy opponent compared to Isabelle or Alec. 

Unsatisfied, he went about doing all the menial chores that had to be done eventually but he kept putting off. He cleaned his weapons, cleaned his room, did a month’s worth of laundry, and mended the button back onto his favorite shirt. He tickling the ivories a little bit and debated going out for a while, but decided he didn’t want to risk being around anyone who didn’t understand him right now. He felt dangerous—rage bubbling over in his heart like lava.

Finally, darkness fell and he heard Hodge call goodbye to the Silent Brothers. The two visiting Shadowhunters that had brought Clarissa Morgenstern passed Jace in the hallway and didn’t even spare him a passing glance. He bristled, never one to take kindly to being ignored, but reminded himself that it was easier if no one questioned him. He waited until Hodge had gone and the Institute was quiet before drawing the same rune on the door and slipping into the dungeons.

It was the first time he had gone into the dungeon so soon after the Silent Brothers had left and immediately noticed a few key differences. First, he could hear the Morgenstern girl weeping quietly, her voice echoing hollowly off the walls. Second, there was a trail of blood leading from the door that led into another room to the girl’s cell. Third was the frigidity in the air. Had it always been this cold down here or was this something left behind by the Silent Brothers?

Jace turned the corner and turned the light on in the girl’s cell. She looked the same as before with her fingers still hideously broken except now she had toes to match. She didn’t look up at him or move from her slumped position. Jace studied her for a moment, making certain she was still chained to the wall, before taking out his Stele and unlocking the cell door with another rune. The hinges swung open silently and Jace let his steps fall heavy on the stones to frighten her. Surprisingly enough, it had the desired effect.

The Morgenstern girl crammed herself tightly into the corner of the cell, her arms and legs coiled tight against her body for what meager protection they would offer. Her shoulders gleamed naked in the bright light and her hair was growing greasy without a good wash. 

Jace glared down at her, considering his options. He knew Hodge didn’t care if one of the other Shadowhunters hurt the girl, but things would probably be different if he found out Jace was hurting her. He’d have to be careful not to leave any obvious injuries and only use the advantages her current injuries gave him. Jace reminded himself to keep this in mind and not to lose himself to all the hatred that burned like a coal in his chest. He breathed in deeply and let it out slowly.

Then, he grabbed a handful of her hair and yanked her to her knees.

She cried out, a sad little weak sound in the silence of the underground, and immediately grabbed at her hair with her good hand. “Please, let go!” 

Jace shook her harshly, pulling her head back at a painful angle by her tangled red tresses and gripping her throat with his free hand. She immediately clutched at his hand, her  
broken fingers grinding and bending unnaturally as she tried to loosen his grip. He could feel the pounding beat of her pulse beneath his palm. 

“Where is Valentine?” Jace snarled, loosening his grip enough to allow her to suck in a breath of air and speak.

When she didn’t immediately answer, he crushed her windpipe again. Little choked sounds escaped her lips, intermingled with pathetic tiny pleas.

He released her again, letting her breathe. “Where is he?”

“I don’t know,” she gasped out quickly.

“You’re lying,” he hissed.

She clawed at the back of his hand, letting go of her hair to focus on freeing her neck from his grip. “No, please, I don’t know anything,” she rasped. “Don’t… hurts…”

Jace released her throat, but kept a firm grip on her hair. “How can you know nothing?” he demanded. “There’s a block in your mind. You have to know something.”

She gasped in a ragged breath, coughing as she tried to pull herself back together. She appeared to realize that her naked chest was completely bare to his eyes and lifted one arm to cover herself. Her broken fingers lay in her lap and she ceased struggling.

A little bubble of excitement welled up in Jace’s chest. “Tell me what you know and I’ll heal your fingers.”

She didn’t respond.

“Tell me what you know,” Jace ordered, pulling her hair harshly.

“I don’t know anything,” she maintained. “I really don’t.” A single tear slipped down her cheek.

“You really are pathetic,” Jace spat. He threw her against the stone wall, eliciting another little whimper of pain from her chapped lips.

“I don’t know what you want from me,” she whispered as he moved towards the door to the cell. “Don’t you think I’d tell you if I did?”

“Would you?” he asked her, pausing to listen for her answer.

She wet her lips and her teeth flashed bloody from the wound in her mouth, but she didn’t answer. For Jace, that was enough. He was certain she was playing him for pity and mercy, hoping to glean what she could from a youth near her age. Well, she was grievously mistaken. Jace Wayland would never show mercy to a Morgenstern.

X X X

Let’s see some reviews! (For writers to write, readers have to review!) If I get a fair amount, I’ll update again on Thursday.

Questions, comments, concerns?


	4. More Flies with Honey

I feel the need to say that this story is a **Partial Alternate Universe**. Ninety-nine percent of what happened in the books happened differently or not at all in my story. And then there’s the one percent that I’ve kept as it was. 

One of the things that is different is the Uprising. It happened, yes, but it happened differently. After it took place, most of Valentine’s Circle disappeared without a trace and though there were a lot of rumors about what happened and who was involved, no one knows for certain. (This includes Hodge’s involvement so Hodge is not cursed.)

Anyway, just felt the need to clear that up and say it. Onto the story!

X X X

Though Jace tried to tell himself he was not going back to see Clarissa Morgenstern in the dungeon and tried to immerse himself in training with Alec, a solid blow to the side of his head alerted him to just how out-of-it he really was. He crashed over sidelong into a rack of bamboo poles used for sparring when the blow he should have seen coming and certainly should have avoided collided with his skull. Cursing, he pressed his fingers to the area, thinking he’d find a comical bump or at least some blood.

“Oh sweet Angel! Jace!” Alec shouted, dropping his sparring pole and running to his friend’s side. “Are you okay? Do you need some ice? Are you hurt?”

“You only wounded my pride,” Jace said plainly and stretched out his arm.

Alec grabbed his hand and heaved him back to his feet. “What on earth happened?” Jace and Alec had been sparring partners for nearly as long as they had been Shadowhunters. They were often evenly matched, trading a few blows every now and again when one slipped up. But never had either of them landed such a solid hit on the other. “What were you doing?”

“Obviously I wasn’t paying attention,” Jace said and prodded at the side of his head. “Thank goodness that hit didn’t damage my smashing good looks.” 

Alec rolled his eyes at both answers. “Clearly, Jace,” he said blandly. “Does anything damage your ego?”

“Getting turned down by a pretty girl. I usually have to tell myself she’s a lesbian.”

Alec flushed. “Jace—”

“I’m fine, but I think I’m going to go get myself some ice. You can finish without me. Beat the hell out of the punching bag instead,” Jace said and gave his friend a languid wave over his shoulder as he left the training room.

Honestly, Jace had gotten himself creamed because he had been too busy thinking about the Morgenstern girl in the dungeon. Well, more to the point, he had been thinking about something Hodge had once said—‘You get more flies with honey than with vinegar.’ Now, what anyone would ever want with a bunch of flies, Jace would never understand, but the saying seemed to hold a grain of wisdom beneath all the jibber-jabber. 

If he was nice to Clarissa Morgenstern, would she tell him something about Valentine? After all, the Silent Brothers had been torturing her quite brutally and were getting no results. 

Jace went to the kitchen and fished a bag of frozen peas out of the back of the freezer. He pressed it to his head, wincing as the potent cold sank into his skull. He made himself and Alec a sandwich with one hand, dumped some potato chips onto the plates, grabbed two sodas from the fridge, and crammed the half-defrosted peas back into the freezer. (He was almost certain that those peas were kept around just for use as an icepack.) 

Jace met Alec on the staircase going up to the training room, the latter coming down in search of the former.

“Jace,” Alec said with concern. “Are you alright?”

“Fine,” he said and handed over the plate of lunch. “Eat up. I want to kick your ass now and I don’t want you to be able to say it was because you were fighting on an empty stomach.”

Alec eyed Jace as he inspected the sandwich for mustard. “Is that what happened to you?”

“Of course,” Jace said. “Isabelle cooked breakfast, after all. I don’t know how you stomach that stuff.”

Alec muttered into his sandwich, “Because she’s my sister and I love her.”

Jace snorted, choking on his potato chips. “I think love only buys you so much good will and forgiveness.”

“You’d be surprised,” Alec said and the expression in his blue eyes was one Jace had never seen before. Alec’s hand ghosted over his arm where he had been wounded just the day before even if the injuries had healed by now with the aid of the runes and herbs.

Jace cleared his throat. “Anywho,” he said and wondered why his voice sounded so nervous. “What do you say we finish off lunch and get back to training?”

“You’re on,” Alec said with a challenging nod. Just like that, the strange expression was gone and Jace wondered if he had simply imagined it. 

…

Since Jace was planning something a little out-of-the-ordinary, he waited until he was certain the Institute was asleep before getting out of bed and venturing downstairs to the dungeon door. It seemed painfully easy to just draw an opening rune on the door and enter. So much for security.

He turned the corner of the dimly-lit hallway and laid eyes on the cell where Clarissa Morgenstern had been imprisoned. As always, she was strewn across the floor in a painful display of bent limbs and blood-colored hair. Her shirt was still missing, her fingers and toes were still broken, she was still chained to the wall, and she still didn’t look capable of harming anyone. Jace reminded himself who her father was and why he was down here, feigning kindness in the hope of gaining some knowledge of Valentine. Two could play this game.

“Hey,” he called.

Her naked back tensed, but she didn’t otherwise move.

“I know you can hear me and I know you’re not unconscious,” he said and could have kicked himself for the scathing tone of his voice.

She sat up, keeping her arm pressed across her naked breasts to preserve her modesty. “I keep telling you… I don’t know anything,” she whispered.

“I know that,” Jace said.

Her head snapped up, her chapped lips parting and a little whimper escaping. One eye was swollen completely shut and the other was painfully bloodshot beneath a tangled fringe of red hair. She really was a pitiful sight, pathetically beaten and half-naked. “You do?” she breathed out.

“Sure,” Jace agreed as he unlocked the cell’s door and entered. 

She pressed herself into the corner of the cell, her chains rattling. “Wait, please, don’t kill me. I—”

“Kill you?” Jace said with a humorless laugh. “Who ever said anything about killing you?”

The girl eyed him nervously. “If you know I don’t know anything…”

Jace rolled his shoulders. “I know that, but I don’t think the Silent Brothers do.”

She shuddered, goose bumps breaking out all over her filthy skin. 

“Let me see your hand,” Jace said.

She hugged her broken fingers to her chest. “Why?”

He pulled his Stele from his pocket and the bright light blinded her. “I can heal you,” Jace said softly, “if you just let me see your hand. Don’t you want the pain to stop?”

She glanced at her crippled hand, looked into Jace’s face, and then back at her hand. She took a deep breath and cautiously held out her arm. In the light, her fingers were more hideously broken than Jace remembered. Jace reached for her and she flinched back, a little whimper escaping her lips. 

“I’m not going to hurt you,” Jace said kindly.

“How do I know that?” she asked, reaching for her throat where bruises with Jace’s fingerprints within them stood out painfully.

“Don’t you think if I was going to hurt you, I would have done it by now?” he inquired.

She didn’t answer, but didn’t retract her hand either.

When Jace reached for her hand again, she didn’t pull away. Her skin was cold and clammy and rough with dried blood. Jace pressed his Stele to the back of her wrist and carefully carved the rune into her flesh, watching the black fan through her pale skin like spilled ink. She bit her lip as the broken bones reset with a lot of cracking and popping, but she sighed in bliss when the rune finished its work. She flexed her fingers, curling them lightly. 

Jace cupped her foot next, eyeing her broken toes as he drew the healing rune again. Her skin was almost as cold as the frozen peas he had used on his bump earlier. Absently, a habit left over from all the times he had healed Alec and Isabelle, he rubbed her calf to encourage warmth and blood flow into the chilled extremity. Her eyes fluttered softly, sliding closed and then snapping open sharply. She watched Jace as if expecting him to undue everything he had healed at any moment.

When he released her foot and reached for her face, she flinched back again. “What are you doing?”

“Don’t you want to see out of that eye again?” he asked.

She nodded, biting her lip.

Jace cupped her chin to hold her face steady as he drew the rune one final time on the darkest bruise at her cheekbone. He watched the swelling and bruises fade away, revealing her pale and lightly-freckled skin. If it wasn’t for the fact that she was Valentine’s daughter and he was already sworn to despise her, Jace might have found her pretty. 

“I almost forgot how it felt not to be in so much pain,” she breathed out, running her fingertips along the bones of her face. “Thank you.”

Jace resisted the urge to remind her that her pain-free time would probably only last until the next morning when the Silent Brothers returned to attempt to torture information out of her. Instead, he remained silent and pocketed his Stele again.

“What’s your name?” she asked softly and suddenly.

“Jace Wayland,” he said. It didn’t occur to him to lie or ask why she cared what his name was. In fact, he hoped she would recognize his name and what her father had done to him and his family. He hoped to find some solid information nailing her down as a traitor who was deeply tied into Valentine’s Circle. He wanted to hurt her, to break all the fingers he had just healed, but only if…

She smiled thinly and if she recognized Jace’s name, she hid it flawlessly. She said after a small moment of hesitation, “I’m Clary Fray.”

Jace’s hand flashed out like a striking snake, slapping her brutally across the face before he could think about what he was doing. “Don’t lie to me,” he snapped. “You’re a Morgenstern.”

She pressed a hand to her stinging face, tears welling in her green eyes. “But I—”

He grabbed her healed hand, bending her fingers back painfully and cutting off her voice. “Don’t you dare, Morgenstern,” he hissed. “Did you think I didn’t already know your name, Clarissa?”

She flinched as if the name caused her pain and clawed at the hand gripping her fingers. Jace merely tightened his grip, forcing her pinky back until it cracked. The girl yelped, but the healing rune Jace had drawn only moments before was still in effect and he felt her bone begin to knit under his grip. He grinned meanly, pressing her finger back again as soon as it healed.

“Stop,” she begged. “It hurts, please. Stop!”

But Jace didn’t. Abruptly, the girl’s struggling grip went soft. She slumped against the stone wall, all the fight going out of her. Even when Jace broke her pinky again, she flinched and whimpered quietly, but didn’t resume her struggles. He watched her face as the bone mended again and felt a little nauseous now that he could focus only on the feeling of it beneath his hand. 

He was about to release her and leave when she suddenly gouged her fingers into the wound on his palm. He cried out, throwing her hand down and yanking his injury from her grasp. The tips of her fingers were bloody and she quickly clutched her injured hand to her naked chest. Her green eyes gleamed, watching him as he clenched his hands together in an attempt to stop the bleeding. 

“Little bitch,” Jace spat at her. 

He wanted to grab for her again, to hurt her badly so that no one would ever know that he had come to heal her. He wanted to blacken her eye again, to break all her fingers, and to shatter the bones in her pretty face. He had thought she was harmless and weak, but he realized now that dropping his guard in the slightest in a Morgenstern’s presence was foolish. She was Valentine Morgenstern’s daughter. The wound on his hand throbbed in time with his heartbeat, damaged further by her ragged fingernails.

“Shit,” he snarled and got quickly to his feet.

He slammed out of her cell and shut off the lights, plunging her into darkness. He lingered a moment, peeling back the bloodied bandage to inspect the wound in his palm. Jeez, she had done a number on it and it had been bad enough to begin with—what he told Alec and Isabelle notwithstanding. If he didn’t want anyone to notice, he’d actually have to use a healing rune on it and since he didn’t want to go dripping blood through the entire Institute, he’d better do it now. It was a simple matter to carve the rune into his palm and watch the flesh knit back together.

“I’m sorry,” the girl’s voice came suddenly from the dark.

Jace didn’t answer and suddenly wished he had left the light on so he could see just what kind of expression her traitorous face was wearing.

“I had to get you to let me go,” she said whispered. “I didn’t want to hurt you, but I had to. I’m sorry.”

Jace stared into the darkness. He hated to even think it, but her words sounded sincere. Before he could do anything stupid that played him further into her hands, he turned on his heel and stalked from the dungeons. He turned off every light as he went, plunging the girl into potent darkness. If she called out after him, he didn’t hear her voice.

X X X

Keep reviewing like you have been and I'll continue to update on Mondays and Thursdays! If not, I'll just go back to Mondays...

Questions, comments, concerns?


	5. Magnus Bane

I have to make an Oktoberfest costume for myself. Oye! Hopefully my skills are at their peaks…

X X X

There was an incessant knocking on Jace’s bedroom door the next morning at an hour that couldn’t be legal. He rolled over, groaning, and tried to ignore it. But whoever was knocking just went on pounding away until he was certain either his door or his skull was going to crack into pieces. He got out of bed, pushing back a curtain of pale hair, and slouched over to the door to pull it open.

“What?” he demanded.

Isabelle almost continued knocking right on his face. “Good, you’re awake,” she said. “Magnus Bane is coming.”

“Say what?” 

“I said, ‘Magnus Bane is coming.’ Don’t you ever listen?”

“I heard that part. I mean, why? And why do I have to be awake for it?”

Isabelle scrutinized him, but if she knew either of those answers, she didn’t see fit to tell him. Instead, she handed him a ball of blue fur that meowed contentedly. “Will you keep Church in your room for a few days?” she asked. “I’d keep him in mine, but he’s a little too fond of playing with my jewelry.”

Despite himself, Jace was happy to see the Persian cat. “Where did you find him?”

“In the garden, hiding in a rosebush,” she said. “You know how he feels about the Silent Brothers.”

“I feel the same,” Jace said and scratched the cat behind the ears. “They’re creepy, huh, Church?”

The cat mewed plaintively. 

“Anyway,” Isabelle continued. “Get dressed. I’m sure Magnus will love you in your pajamas, but I don’t want to hear about it.”

Jace had a sarcastic comment for her, but apparently she didn’t want to hear about his dashing good looks either. She turned on her heel and was gone down the hallway in a flash. It was only then that Jace realized she was carrying her whip and that her long dark hair had been scraped back into a bun. What was going on so early in the morning? It was still dark out for heaven’s sake!

Jace closed his door and deposited Church on his still-warm bed. The cat must not have been sleeping very well with the Silent Brothers coming and going at all hours of the night because he immediately snuggled down against Jace’s pillow and went to sleep. It was tempting to climb in beside the cat and catch up on a little more sleep, but he had a feeling Isabelle would drag him off to meet Magnus Bane in his underwear if he wasn’t ready and down there in the next few minutes.

He dressed quickly, tamed his hair, and brushed his teeth. He grabbed a light dagger and Stele from his nightstand, gave Church a scratch, and hurried to the library because Isabelle might have told him that Magnus Bane was coming, but she didn’t tell him where. Hodge would probably know—Hodge knew everything. It turned out that Jace was right on two accounts. As he approached the library, he heard Hodge arguing with someone and the only people Hodge was known to argue with on a regular basis were Jace and Magnus Bane.

“What did you think would happen, Hodge?” Magnus was saying in that exotic voice of his. “You got your mitts on Valentine’s daughter and locked her in the cellar. Almost immediately, you expose her to the Silent Brothers and their icy hands. You torture you, you starve her, and you keep her down there in the dark. What did you think was going to happen? She’s just a young girl.”

“You know Valentine, Magnus,” Hodge argued. “Should I bring her tea and crumpets just because she’s a child? The Silent Brothers told me not to bother with her, to let her suffer through everything they did to her, and those other two Shadowhunters…” Hodge broke off. “How am I supposed to treat a known traitor’s child?”

“Well, how do you treat Jace?” Magnus asked. “How do you treat Alec and Isabelle?”

“That’s different. They’re—”

“Waylands? Lightwoods?” Magnus cut in. “Their parents were all part of Valentine’s Circle—traitors, as you would say. The Waylands are dead and the Lightwoods are still missing to this day.”

Hodge was silent for a long moment.

Magnus continued, “Clarissa is only sixteen, the same age as Isabelle.”

“You’re only partial to her because you knew her mother,” Hodge spat out. “She’s a Morgenstern and—”

“Since when have you ever allowed fellow Shadowhunters to do what they please with the prisoners?” Magnus’s voice rose several octaves. “And now you’re sending for me in the dead of night to make sure she’s not pregnant because of all this!” 

Jace’s heart skipped a beat. Had she seduced one of the Shadowhunters?

“Just deal with it, Magnus,” Hodge said finally. “The Silent Brothers will be here in a few hours. They won’t care what was done to her. I’m surprised they didn’t do it themselves. But I do not want Morgenstern to have any more children under his power.”

Magnus didn’t answer, but Jace heard his heavy footsteps pounding towards the door and quickly scrambled around the corner out of sight. He waited until he was certain Magnus was gone before peeking out around the corner and finding himself staring right into a pair of exotic cat-like eyes.

“Well, Jace Wayland,” Magnus said shortly. “I was wondering if you’d ever peek out of your little hidey-hole.”

Jace tried to look dignified, but it was hard to look much of anything when one was peeking around corners in the predawn hours. “Magnus Bane,” he said simply and hoped his voice didn’t betray him. “What brings you to our neck of the woods?”

“An unpleasant problem,” Magnus said. “Now, come with me.” 

In a swish of his long dark coat, the warlock turned and began walking down the hallway at a pace nearly impossible for Jace to keep up with. Jace didn’t know it then, but Magnus had just done him an enormous favor. The warlock stopped short at the dungeon door and opened it with Hodge’s key. 

“Why are you bring me into the dungeon?” Jace demanded, halting at the top of the staircase to watch Magnus descend into the darkness. “I have no interest in the Morgenstern girl.”

“Just get down here,” Magnus said shortly. “Don’t make me drag you, kicking and screaming, because I will.”

With no other choice, Jace descended the steps after the warlock. The path was familiar to Jace by now, but Magnus took the time to peer into every cell in search of Clarissa Morgenstern. Finally, he reached the proper cell and flicked on the light. Jace was expecting to see her in much of the same state he always did save that most of her injuries had been healed by him the night before. Instead, it looked as if Jace had never come at all.

The girl was completely naked, her shredded jeans clutched to her painful nudity. Blood streaked most of her body and her fingers had been broken again. The runes Jace had drawn onto her had worn off by now and he wondered how many times her fingers had been broken, healed, and re-broken before the effects wore off. Nausea welled up in his stomach like a boiled stone and he turned away when Magnus unlocked the cell and entered.

“Clarissa,” Magnus said gently.

The girl whimpered, curling deeper within her body.

“I’m a warlock,” he continued kindly. “Let me help you, Clarissa.” He gently cradled her broken hand, pouring soft healing magic into it, and then he realized there was a faded run etched into her skin. “Who did this to you?”

“Jace,” she whispered.

“I did not!” Jace shouted. “I haven’t touched her!”

Magnus slid Jace a withering look and turned her hand slightly so Jace could see the remains of his healing rune. “It’s a good trait to be capable of showing kindness to one’s enemy,” the warlock said softly and brushed some dried blood from the girl’s pale skin. “Blind hatred never got anyone anywhere.”

Jace wanted to protest, but the girl suddenly shuddered violently and her teeth began to chatter. She really was such a pathetic little creature… It seemed like a waste of energy to hate her when she appeared worthy of only pity.

Magnus began to pass his hand over her body, mending injuries and cleaning away the blood in a methodic way. Though Jace tried not to watch, not to study the curvature of the girl’s naked body, he couldn’t help but notice that Magnus spent a great deal of time mending something between her legs along with her broken fingers. There was a lot of blood on her inner thighs, dry in some places, but still shining wet in others. Was that a bite mark on her hip? Magnus placed his hand on her lower stomach, his brow wrinkling as he focused. When the warlock finally finished, he shrugged out of his heavy coat and wrapped it around the girl’s naked trembling shoulders. 

She nestled deep into the warmth, her green eyes darting over Magnus’s shoulder and laying on Jace for a short moment before she looked away.

“Now,” he said to the girl. “Tell me who did this to you?”

Again, she glanced at Jace and then lowered her eyes. She struggled to wet her lips and opened her mouth to speak, but only a dry croaking sound escaped.

Magnus gently leaned her against the wall and turned to Jace. “Stay here with her while I get some water. Don’t let anyone at her until I return,” he told the boy.

Jace nodded, uncertain of what else he was supposed to do. 

Both he and the girl watched the warlock go.

Then, Jace heard the soft hiss of chains and turned to see that the girl had struggled to her feet. She clutched Magnus’s coat closed, knotted the belt with shaking fingers, and wavered a step towards the door of her cell. Jace was about to laugh at her when he realized that she wasn’t chained to the wall anymore. Had Magnus unchained her while he was healing her? For a moment, Jace stood frozen at the threshold, watching her approach like an oncoming storm.

“Stop,” he said and reached out to grab her.

Her green eyes shot into him like a dagger and she slammed the flat of her palm into his chest. 

He staggered back, unable to breathe. Gasping, leaning on the stone wall for support, he could only watch as she walked past him towards the exit. “Stop,” he wheezed, but she didn’t even spare him a passing glance. Whatever she had done to him, it was nothing he had ever felt before.

She continued towards the door of the dungeons, walking towards the distant light like a corpse going to heaven. She panted, pausing to lean on the wall.

Jace heard footsteps and saw the flash of a shadow on the wall. Magnus was back, thank the Angel.

But it wasn’t Magnus who stepped around the corner and blocked the girl’s path like iron bars. It was the male Shadowhunter who had brought her to the Institute, the one with the scraggly beard. Her hand flashed out and Jace wanted to call a warning to his fellow Shadowhunter, but it proved both impossible for his lack of breath and also unnecessary. The Shadowhunter caught her hand easily, bending her wrist back sharply. She cried out, crumpling at his feet.

“Trying to use that little trick on me again, are you?” he snarled. “It didn’t save you last night, did it?”

“Let me go,” she whispered. 

He yanked her to her feet by her wrist and pulled her flush against his broad chest. He drew his dagger and traced it along the edge of her jaw, down the beat of her pulse, and down her chest. Magnus’s coat flapped and fluttered like a bird with a broken wing as the girl struggled against his hold. Then, she cried out sharply, her voice rising to nearly a scream. Jace couldn’t see what exactly he was doing since his view was blocked by Magus’s flapping coat and the girl’s back. Her body convulsed and her back arched into a shape that couldn’t be natural.

“Stop!” she screamed. “Take it out! It hurts!”

Fresh blood splattered on the stone floor beneath her feet.

“Don’t you like it?” the Shadowhunter hissed. “It’s bigger than I am. I’d think you’d like it, little whore.”

It was then that the picture of what was happening came into undeniable focus for Jace. Clarissa Morgenstern was being raped by another Shadowhunter right in front of him and, if that wasn’t the worst of it, she was being violated with a dagger. But what could Jace do? Whatever she had hit him with, whatever power she had in her hand, had stolen all the air from his lungs and prevented him from drawing in enough to help her. He couldn’t fight another Shadowhunter—especially and older Shadowhunter—like this.

She screamed again, throwing her head back and sobbing openly. “Stop, please, stop! It hurts!”

“Take it, little bitch,” the older Shadowhunter snarled. “I’m sure your father did far worse to my daughter before he killed her.”

The girl screamed, her voice echoing against the walls. “Please, stop! I don’t know! Take it out!”

Jace couldn’t take anymore. Magnus’s words to Hodge just kept echoing in his head—‘Clarissa is only sixteen, the same age as Isabelle.’ If anything like this ever happened to Isabelle, Jace and Alec would waste no time annihilating whoever had hurt her no matter the cost. Jace sucked in as deep a breath as he could manage through the ache in his chest, pulled the small dagger from his boot, and threw it with as much force as he could muster.

It sank deep into the older Shadowhunter’s shoulder, spraying a small fountain of crimson blood. With a wailing shout, he threw the girl aside and whirled on Jace. “What’s your problem, boy?” he snarled. “She’s a Morgenstern! She’s Valentine’s daughter!”

“Stop,” Jace wheezed. It had grown harder to breathe.

The older Shadowhunter grabbed Jace by the front of his shirt and yanked him away from the support of the stone wall. Jace hadn’t felt so small in a very long time. His feet barely touched the floor in this Shadowhunter’s grasp and he couldn’t take in a deep enough breath to even consider fighting. When the older Shadowhunter shook him harshly and cracked his head into the wall, there was nothing Jace could do to struggle against it. His vision swam, speckled with little spots of black and surges of blood-red color.

“Stop! Let him go!” the girl shrieked. 

The older Shadowhunter’s body lurched forward as if something had struck him from behind. Jace’s head smashed into the stone wall again and then the grip on his shirt was gone. For a moment, he fooled himself into thinking he could stay on his feet, but his knees buckled in an instant. His head hit the wall one final time in an explosion of stars and lights. He lay crumpled on his side, watching deliriously as the Morgenstern girl and the older Shadowhunter grappled. 

It wasn’t much of a fight.

Almost as quickly as Jace’s legs had betrayed him, the girl was pinned against the wall with a hand at her throat and the dagger pressing between her breasts. Her bare legs thrashed, white-pale against the black of Magnus’s coat and the dark stone. Bright blood was staining the insides of her thighs, dripping off her skin. Her green eyes watered and she bared her teeth like an animal. She screamed, but it was choked off by the easy press of the older Shadowhunter’s large hand. 

“I should gut you,” the older Shadowhunter snarled.

“Let go,” she choked out.

The blade pressed into her skin, drawing fresh blood.

“STOP! Right now!” 

Magnus Bane’s voice cut through everything like a hot knife through butter. He was carrying a flask of water, but dropped it when he saw what was going on. He quickly pried the older Shadowhunter off of the Morgenstern girl and gathered her up under one arm. She hung limp in his grasp, breathing hard. With his free arm, Magnus gathered up Jace and hefted the boy over his shoulder. The older Shadowhunter was gripping his bloodied dagger and looked ready to fight the warlock so Magnus spat out a single word in Latin and watched with enjoyment as the Shadowhunter froze like a statue and then toppled over. 

Magnus stalked back to Hodge’s library like a panther on the hunt. Though they passed Isabelle and Alec in the hallway and both looked stricken, Jace didn’t have the breath or the energy to tell them that he was alright. Magnus kicked open the door to the library with Clarissa Morgenstern under his arm and Jace Wayland over his shoulder. Jace could feel the rage and tension in the warlock’s shoulders, but anything Magnus had planned to do abruptly toppled like a house of cards. 

A pair of Silent Brothers was standing with Hodge, talking silently, and the trio turned when Magnus entered the library like a bomb going off. Before anyone could say anything to explain what was going on or what had just happened, the Silent Brothers took Clarissa from Magnus’s grasp, stripped her of his overcoat, and spirited her back to the dungeon like smoke. Magnus’s mouth opened and closed a few times like a fish out of water, unable to speak at all through his anger and shock.

“That will be all, Magnus,” Hodge said shortly. “Thank you for coming.”

The warlock set Jace down on his feet, keeping a grip on his arm to steady him, and passed his hand over Jace’s throbbing chest. There was a little sound like an egg cracking and air surged back into Jace’s lungs. He gasped for breath, pressing a hand over the distant ache, and opened his mouth to thank Magnus. But the warlock was through talking. He grabbed the bloodied coat he had lent to Clarissa from the floor, tucked it over his arm, turned on his heel, and was gone like a gust of air. The door banged shut loudly like a condemning judge’s gavel.

X X X

Review if you want a second update on Thursday. Everyone did so good and got my hopes so high and then the last chapter got three reviews… It was sad…

Questions, comments, concerns?

Review!


	6. Pity that Lingers

Happy Oktoberfest! Drink beer and go to the races.

X X X

Hodge had wanted to talk to Jace about the healing runes on Clarissa Morgenstern’s body and about her cruel rape. He hadn’t thought Jace capable of either, but who else was persistent enough to make their way into a dungeon without the key? 

With Magnus Bane’s arrival and the events that took place after, it became apparent the one who had raped the Morgenstern girl was the senior Shadowhunter, Shawn Darklight (1), whose daughter had been kidnapped and murdered by Valentine Morgenstern. Though Hodge understood the man’s desire to seek revenge and make Valentine’s daughter suffer as his own daughter had probably suffered, he would have to send the Shadowhunter away regardless. 

Now, he still wished to speak with Jace about the healing runes, but he studied the blood seeping through Jace’s pale hair and instead sent the boy off to the infirmary. Jace had a hard head, but stone was harder and he had apparently taken a few good knocks. That and he knew Alec and Isabelle were surely about to charge into the library any minute now. It would be easier to just let Jace go now and speak with him later. 

Sure enough, only an instant before Hodge made to open his mouth and tell Jace to go to the infirmary, Isabelle and Alec barreled into the library and swarmed over Jace like concerned mothers. Isabelle took a small moment to tell Hodge that they were going to tend to Jace while Alec went about supporting his friend. They were quite the close-knit trio. Hodge supposed he’d done a good job raising the orphaned Jace and the practically-orphaned Lightwood siblings, but thinking that only brought him back to his conversation with Magnus Bane.

How should he treat Clarissa Morgenstern, Valentine’s daughter? 

…

Alec eased Jace down on a vacant bed in the infirmary. Shawn Darklight lay in an adjacent bed, waiting for Magnus Bane’s spell to wear off. The female Shadowhunter with the pale hair was sitting at his side and her eyes flashed like shards of mirrors when the trio of younger Shadowhunters entered. Obviously she had already heard about the events that transpired in the dungeon, but Alec and Isabelle hadn’t yet. At least they had the forethought to carve a healing rune against Jace’s hairline to heal his head before they bombarded him with questions. 

“What happened?” Isabelle demanded. “I woke you up because Hodge wanted to talk to you. How did you wind up in the basement with Magnus Bane?”

Alec gave Jace a glass of water and said sternly, “Izz, give him a minute.”

“I’m fine,” Jace said and sat up against the headboard of the narrow bed. “My head is harder than iron.”

Isabelle snorted. “Don’t we know it,” she said. “Now spill.”

It didn’t take long for Jace to explain what had happened, but he had a feeling his friends were more confused than ever when he finished. Certainly, he felt rather confused himself. Jace had been there for each instance and he hardly knew what to make of it. It probably sounded worse second-hand. After all, details of the story tended to swing back and forth like a pendulum. 

First, Valentine’s daughter was pathetic and weak and then she was violent bitch. He had attacked her and she had only begged him to stop, insisting that she didn’t know anything. She hadn’t fought back. He had healed her and then she had hurt him, taking advantage of the injury in his palm. Then, she had apologized, she had begged him to leave the lights on, and she had cried and whimpered. Most recently, she had tried to escape and attacked Jace and then she had apparently tried to save him.

“Let me get this straight,” Isabelle began.

Jace cut her off, holding up a hand. “Never mind,” he said. “I think this all sounds worse out loud.” 

“Well, what are you going to do now?” Alec asked.

Jace sighed heavily, running a hand through his hair and wincing when he felt the phantom pain of his injury spear through his skull. “I don’t know. I guess I’ll just keep doing what I’m doing,” he said. “Maybe something will come out of it eventually.”

Isabelle twisted a lock of hair around her finger. “Poor girl,” she muttered. “You don’t think the Silent Brothers will pick up where Shawn Darklight left off, do you?”

Jace shrugged, forcing nonchalance. 

“I hope not,” Alec put in honestly. He glanced at Isabelle, his expression protective and sad.

Jace felt it too, rattling like something broken deep in his chest. 

Clarissa Morgenstern had no one to protect her, no one to help her, and no one who even cared. He highly doubted her father would care if she had been raped or not. She had no one like Jace and Alec who would die to protect her and would butcher anyone who even dared think of harming her. If anything like what happened to Clarissa ever happened to Isabelle, both boys would raise hell to help her.

“Jace,” Isabelle said softly. “Alec.”

Alec caught Isabelle under one arm, hugged her close, and captured Jace with the other. Isabelle smelled of roses and soap, clean skin and leather. Her body was warm between them and Jace couldn’t help but think of how icy-cold Clarissa’s body had been. He squeezed Isabelle closer, hoping his arms spoke what he could never say aloud. He loved her and he loved Alec. They were his only family and he wouldn’t let anything ever hurt them. He also knew that they would protect him, too.

…

After Jace, Alec, and Isabelle saw Shawn Darklight and the female Shadowhunter off, Jace returned to his room to rest. His head was pounding like there was a brass band living inside his skull, drumming away at an unimaginable tempo. He plucked Church off his pillow and settled the cat on his still-aching chest. Church’s purring was so soothing and the cat was so warm… He fell asleep stroking the soft blue fur.

He was woken by sharp cat claws digging through the thin material of his shirt. Church was peering into his face, still purring, with his whiskers tickling unpleasantly against Jace’s cheeks. When he realized that Jace was awake, he meowed loudly and jumped down from Jace’s chest to scurry towards the door. Judging by how excited Church was, the Silent Brothers must have left for the night or else it was dinner time.

Jace, per Isabelle’s instructions, didn’t let Church out and kept him locked in his room. He stretched languidly and padded barefoot down the hallway to the kitchen. The microwave clock said that it was a little after ten and there was a sticky note stuck to the surface explaining that there was a plate of dinner leftover for him inside if he’d only reheat it. Jace wasn’t very hungry, but he thought of what he had overheard Magnus say about keeping Clarissa Morgenstern locked in the dark and starving.

He reheated the meal, filled a glass with tap water, and carried both to the dungeon door. He searched his pockets for his Stele, a task made difficult by both hands being occupied with foodstuffs, and finally managed to unlock the door. The hallway lights had been left on and Jace made his way down quietly. The stone was icy-cold beneath his bare feet and he could only imagine how Clarissa must have felt being naked and trapped down here.

He turned the corner, flipped the lights on in her cell, and called, “Hey.”

Magnus had done a good job patching her up and the Silent Brothers must have taken it easy on her. She looked better than she had for the past few days even if she was chained to the wall again. Jace didn’t see any broken bones and spied only a few bruises and scrapes on her elbows and knees. She had pressed herself into the corner of the cell, using her thin legs as a sort of shield for her nudity. 

“Hi,” she croaked out.

“I brought you some dinner,” Jace offered.

He unlocked the cell with his Stele and entered, being sure to keep a good distance between himself and her hands. Whatever she had done to his chest, he wasn’t in a hurry to feel it again. He liked breathing, thank you very much. He set the plate down in front of her along with the glass of water. 

Her green eyes narrowed with mistrust. “What’s in it?”

“Probably rat poison,” he told her.

Despite herself, she laughed softly. “Really now?”

Jace shrugged and crouched down a few feet away from her. “Then again, maybe not. It could just be pizza and water.”

“I believe that’s very possible,” the girl said. She eyed the food hungrily, but didn’t reach for anything Jace had brought down. 

“I was only kidding,” Jace said after a long moment. “It’s not poisoned or spiked with anything.”

“I’m sure,” she said smoothly, but still didn’t move to eat or drink even though she must certainly be starving. How long had she been down here anyway?

With a quiet sigh, Jace picked up the glass of water, took a sip, and then handed it to her. Her fingers were freezing where she touched him, but she greedily drained the glass. He picked up the pizza and took a bite of that as well before handing her the plate. She hands trembled as she ate ravenously. 

When she had finished, she glanced at him through the veil of her blood-colored hair and said softly, “Thank you…”

“No problem,” he said. “You… said your name was Clary Fray, right?”

She lifted her hands, sheltering her face. 

“I’m not going to hit you,” he protested.

She peered at him through her fingers, studying his face and his posture. He was crouched on his heels, knees sticking out through the holes in his jeans, with blue fur all over his shirt. He didn’t really look poised to attack and he looked just as tired as she felt.

“Yeah,” she murmured. “Clary is short for Clarissa.”

“So, can I call you that?” he asked.

Her eyes widened with shock that she wasn’t able to hide. “Why?”

Jace shrugged, picking some of Church’s fur off his shirt. “Just because.” Then, he gathered up the dishes and exited the cell. This time, he didn’t turn the lights off and said kindly, “Goodnight Clary.”

He heard her inhale sharply and glanced over his shoulder at her, sliding her a winning smile that was sure to melt the hearts of young maidens everywhere. She didn’t exactly look ready to melt, but she didn’t look like she was expecting him to hurl a dagger into her heart at any given moment.

“Goodnight Jace,” she said in return.

…

To make up for leaving Church locked in his room, Jace brought a can of tuna back up with him. He cracked it open and set it down on his desk, petting the blue Persian while he ate happily. He had often heard that people with deep-seated hatred and sadistic tendencies often had the urge to torture small animals. He could easily imagine himself carving Valentine Morgenstern into tiny bloody pieces, but he couldn’t imagine ever harming Church or Hugo.

He paused for a moment in his stroking of the happy cat, thinking. What did that mean for his hatred? He was also suddenly having a hard time imagining himself harming Clarissa Morgenstern as well. How was that possible? He had spent so much of his life waiting to get his hands on Morgenstern and now he almost couldn’t bear to hurt her. She was Isabelle’s age, she was short and thin, she had freckles, and she was so alone. 

He gnawed the corner of his lip, scratching Church behind the ears. Valentine couldn’t be that great of a father. What if Clary had suffered too? What if she didn’t deserve any of this? But there was still that block in her mind. If she didn’t know anything, why would Valentine have gone through all the trouble of having the block put in? It just didn’t make sense and Jace didn’t know what to think. Church finished his snack and meowed at Jace. He gathered up the cat and flopped down on his unmade bed, petting the purring beast until he fell asleep.

X X X

(1) Whether Shawn Darklight is an actually person in the books or not, I have no idea. I’ve only read the first one and I just made up a Shadowhunter name for my own purposes. Their names all tend to be normal with a compound last name. So… I don’t know.

I’m having a horrible day so leave me some reviews, please.

Questions, comments, concerns?


	7. Of Nightgowns and Pets

Wow, I’m so tired.

X X X

Jace woke up the next morning in a fit of violent sneezes that reminded him harshly of all the blows his skull had taken the day before. Church was sleeping soundly under his chin, all his long fluffy blue fur tickling Jace’s nose and causing another sneeze to well up. After it passed, Jace groaned and rolled away from the cat, wiping blearily at all the clinging strands of fur. He closed his eyes and tried to focus on the warmth of Church’s little body snuggled against the center of his back. He was nearly asleep again when he abruptly sneezed himself the rest of the way awake.

Giving up, he rolled out of bed and dragged himself into the bathroom. Yikes, had Church spent the entire night licking his hair into outrageous points? Did he look like he needed to be groomed or something? Nothing short of a shower was going to fix that disaster so Jace quickly stripped off his pajamas and hopped beneath the warm spray. He scrubbed his hair into something more manageable, shaved the stubble that was trying its hardest to form on his face, and took the time to wash behind his ears and between his toes. 

When he got out, he nearly stepped on Church and it was probably only his Shadowhunter reflexes that prevented him from hurting himself as he desperately tried to step around the fluffy blue Persian. “Would you get out from underfoot?” he shouted at the cat.

If Church understood his frustration, he was playing coy about it and mewled at Jace as if to say this whole thing was his fault. 

Jace quickly dried himself off and dressed in some clean clothes. Forgoing shoes, he plopped Church down on his bed, grabbed his Stele and dagger from the nightstand, and headed down to the kitchen for breakfast. Skipping dinner the night before had left him starving.

Isabelle was sitting at the kitchen table, pouring over a mundane beauty magazine and drinking orange juice when Jace entered. She glanced up and bid him ‘good morning’ before turning her attention back to the glamorous stylings of the latest trend.

“Isabelle,” Jace asked as he got out two bowls and some milk. “Can I borrow some of your clothes?”

To her credit, she didn’t look as surprised as he would have thought. Instead, she eyed him over the rim of her glass and asked suspiciously, “Are you planning on wearing them? I don’t think I have anything in your size.”

Jace snorted and pulled out some cereal, setting everything down on the table in front of her. “No,” he said. “It’s for… Clary.”

Isabelle sat up sharply in her chair. “Clary? Clary who? Do you have a naked girl in your room?”

Jace fetched some spoons and sat down across from her. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

Isabelle stood up, grinning. “I can find out!”

Jace grabbed her arm. “I’m kidding, I’m kidding. Sit down,” he said. “Clary is… Valentine Morgenstern’s daughter.”

For a long moment, Isabelle just stared at him. He could practically see the wheels turning in her head as she tried to understand Jace’s reasoning. “Why do you want clothes for Valentine’s daughter?” she asked finally, apparently unable to find any good idea cooking behind this.

“Well, you know what happened to her,” Jace began quietly. “She’s still naked.”

Isabelle’s face paled and she said, “I’m sure I can find something.”

“Make sure it’s not something you like,” Jace told her. “It’ll probably get all… bloody…”

Her face got even paler, but her voice was steady when she finally spoke, “I think I have a flannel nightgown that I’m not going to wear anymore. Do you want it now or later?”

“Later,” Jace said. “I’m sure the Silent Brothers are down there with her now.”

Isabelle nodded. “Okay. I’ll give it to you after dinner.”

“No, I’ll come get it before I see her. I don’t… I don’t want Hodge to know that I’m helping her.”

“Why not?” Isabelle asked.

“I don’t know,” Jace admitted. “I just… don’t want him to know.”

“Okay,” Isabelle said quietly. Then, she took a deep breath and asked, “How’s Church doing? I’m worried about how the Silent Brothers are affecting him. They’re here every day.”

“He’s fine,” Jace told her. “But if he doesn’t stop sleeping on my face, he’s going to have to move in with you.”

She stared at him, the corner of her lips twitching into a broad grin. “Not on your life,” she said and cast an appraising glance over him. “Blue isn’t my color.”

It took Jace a moment to realize that the clean clothes he had put on just a little while ago were already covered in bright blue fur. He wrinkled his nose and tried to brush himself off, but there was nothing he could do about the state of his clothes. Cat fur was worse than super glue and ink combined, especially that of a bright blue Persian. “I’m going to strangle that cat,” Jace muttered.

…

Jace knocked on Isabelle’s bedroom door around nine. He knew she hadn’t been sleeping well and he didn’t want to risk waking her up if he came any later. She answered the door in a cotton tank top and her panties and there was a time when that would have bothered Jace, but not right now. She looked like she had been crying.

“Are you alright?” he asked softly.

She nodded and wiped at her eyes. “Yeah, I’m fine,” she said. Then, she handed him a long flannel nightgown that Jace could never picture her wearing. “Here. I don’t need it back.”

“Thanks. Do you need anything?” he asked.

She shook her head, tucking a ringlet of dark hair behind her ear. “No, I’m fine.”

Jace studied her for a moment. Alec had been distant today as well, his blue eyes taking on the appearance of storm clouds heavy with rain. “It’s the anniversary, isn’t it?” Jace asked.

“Yeah,” she said quietly and a tear slipped down her cheek. “Our parents have been missing for almost fifteen years now… ever since the Uprising… (1)” Isabelle was always very careful not to say that her parents might be dead even if she knew it in her heart. She didn’t remember them, but Alec did and this time of year was often more painful for him than it was for Isabelle.

Jace gripped her shoulder, giving it a comforting squeeze. 

Isabelle forced a thin smile, swallowing her tears. She knew both her brother and Jace had suffered far more than she had. Jace had watched his parents butchered right in front of him and Alec could actually remember their parents, but she still felt a raw hollow ache deep in her chest. “Thanks, Jace,” she murmured.

“No problem,” he said. “Just let me know if you need anything. Should I check on Alec?”

She shook her head. “No, I already did. I think it’s best to just leave him be for now.”

“Okay,” Jace said gently. “Try to get some rest.”

Isabelle nodded and softly closed her bedroom door.

Jace took a moment to compose himself, fighting back the tide of blood-stained memories and feelings that threatened to smother him in death. He took a shallow breath, clenching his fingers in the soft material of the borrowed nightgown, and let it out slowly. He pieced himself back together, smoothed back his hair, and focused on the task at hand.

It was a simple matter to swing by the kitchen and grab a bottle of water and an apple. Then, it was a short walk to the basement door and he etched the opening rune into the door again. The staircase was pitch-dark and he turned on the lights as he made his way to Clary’s cell. As he had expected, she was naked and beaten up, but she actually smiled when she saw him. Well, she smiled if that blood-stained grin could be called a smile. Maybe it was just a pained hapless curving of her red lips to deceive him.

“Hi, Jace,” she said lightly, but her words were hideously garbled by a painful split in her lower lip. She wiped away some blood trickling down her chin with the back of her hand.

“Hello, Clary,” he said as he unlocked the cell door and entered. As before, he crouched nearby, but not close enough that she could strike out at him. “I brought you something.”

“A present?” she asked and her voice was small and thin like a child’s.

“Not really,” Jace admitted and handed her the flannel nightgown.

“Oh,” she breathed and hugged the warm fabric to her chest, breathing in the lingering scent of roses from Isabelle’s room. “Thank you.”

“I figured you can’t be that comfortable being naked down here.”

Clary’s shoulders tensed and she glanced up at him, drawing her legs closer as a shield against her naked body. “No,” she murmured softly.

“Go ahead,” he said. “Put it on.” 

She eyed him suspiciously over her knees.

“If I was going to jump you, I would have done it by now, don’t you think?” Jace told her. “It’s not as if you could stop me.”

Her green eyes narrowed into slits and her lips pulled back over her white teeth. “You don’t know what I’m capable of,” she hissed and jerked her hand forward towards his face. The chain snapped her wrist up short with only a few inches to spare. 

Jace didn’t flinch, staring into her face without blinking in the same way he did with lower and more animalistic demons. It was important to keep eye contact with an animal, to assert dominance, to show no fear or wavering. He had the feeling that if he showed her any fear, she would devour him like a beast in a heartbeat. He could still feel the distant and deep ache of whatever she had done to him in his chest.

Apparently realizing she had threatened the only person who was being nice to her, she quickly averted her eyes and whispered, “I’m sorry.”

“Are you afraid?” Jace asked her and his voice came out harsher than he intended.

She wrapped her arms tightly around her middle without responding.

“Did Valentine teach you never to show any fear?” he asked.

She still didn’t speak, but her lower lip trembled and betrayed her. She was only a young girl, younger than Jace.

Though Jace wanted to feel anger at her attempt to attack him, he could only feel aching pity as he watched her cautiously pull the warm flannel nightgown over her head and smooth it down against her skin. “Here,” he said and handed her the bottle of water. 

She held it in her hands, turning it over and over as if searching for something. She twisted off the cap, but didn’t take a drink even though she must have been thirsty. 

“Don’t trust me, do you?” Jace asked her and held out his hand for the bottle.

She wet her lips. “Not that much,” she confessed and watched him take a sip to prove that there was nothing spiked in the water. He handed her back the bottle and she drank desperately, her thin bruised throat flashing as she swallowed.

Jace pulled his dagger from his boot, intending to carve the apple into smaller pieces. Since Clary’s lip was split, it would probably be very painful to constantly bite into the crunchy fruit. But when she saw the glint of the blade, she nearly dropped the water in her haste to lift her hands as a shield.

“Wait,” she pleaded. “I’m sorry. If I offended you, I’m sorry. You don’t have to do this.”

Jace wrinkled his brow and began to peel the apple without responding. She let out her breath in a trembling rush and simply watched him. Jace could peel apples like a champ and Isabelle often joked that he should enter an apple-peeling contest. Judging by the small smile on Clary’s lips, she must have been thinking the same thing as Jace peeled the skin from the apple in a perfect corkscrew. Then, he began to slice it, carving slender slices from the core with ease. After eating a piece himself to comfort her, he handed Clary each slice as he cut it.

“You’re very good at that,” Clary murmured as she accepted another wedge of apple.

“Thanks. I’ve had a lot of practice.”

“And what occasion does a fine Shadowhunter such as yourself have to peel apples? Been baking a lot of pies lately?”

He chuckled. “Only around Christmas, but no,” he told her. “Actually, I like to feed Hodge’s bird.”

“His bird?” she asked and her green eyes appeared to flash for a moment but it might have been a trick of the light.

“His raven, Hugo,” Jace explained.

Clary’s lips twitched into a semblance of a smile. “You must be good with animals. Tell me, who belongs to all the blue fur on you?”

“I’m dating a smurf,” Jace said.

She snorted.

“Okay, you got me. It’s our resident cat, Church.”

“He’s blue?”

Jace nodded. “Yeah, he’s a weird cat. I swear he understands English and just pretends to be ignorant of everything I say to him. He’s camped out in my room for now because the Silent Brothers freak him out,” he told her.

Her eyes shadowed with pain.

“So,” Jace said in a hurry to change the subject, “Do you have any pets?”

She accepted another wedge of apple. “No.”

“Not even a goldfish?” Jace continued. 

“No,” Clary said quickly.

“Why not?” Jace asked.

Her green eyes flashed up, catching the bright light in a strange way. For a moment, Jace was certain that this was the expression Valentine Morgenstern wore when he murdered people—dark, deceptive, secretive, sly, with just a hint that if you did something different you might be spared. That was the cruelest aspect.

Jace held the next slice of apple just out of her reach. “Tell me. Why not?” 

She leaned back against the wall, her chains rattling. “What concern is it to you about what pets I do or do not have?”

“Just making conversation.”

“My pets aren’t going to get you any closer to Valentine.”

“I figured that much out for myself, unless you have a little birdie that’s going to tell me everything I want to know,” Jace said. Since she seemed intent on not answering, he popped the piece of apple into his mouth and twisted the fruit in his grasp as he considered where to carve a wedge from next. “If it’s so unimportant, why not tell me?”

She glanced up at him again and this time there was nothing of Morgenstern in her face. Her green eyes were only sad and wary, mistrustful and shadowed. “I know how far people will go to get their hands on the enemy, to break them down, to weaken them, to make them submit. They’ll do anything! Even hurt something so sweet and innocent as a cat or a dog…”

Jace’s heart skipped a beat at the implication of her words. He was about to protest, but she continued, cutting him off.

“I will not tell you about my pets so you can scurry off to your Silent Brothers and tell them so they can use it against me. I would never risk that!” Her eyes sparkled, tears gleaming in the corners, but she quickly turned herself into the corner of her cell to hide her face. “Goodnight, Jace.”

“Clary—”

“Goodnight.”

Sensing that she had shut down and nothing he said was going to change anything, Jace finished slicing the apple and set the rest of it down where she could reach it. He collected the empty water bottle, his dagger, and his Stele. Then, without further words, he left.

Church greeted him the moment he entered his room, meowing and purring at his feet and brushing against his legs. Though Jace was truly tired of all of Church’s blue hair, he couldn’t bring himself to find any anger. He scooped the cat up and cradled him in his arms, burying his face in the soft fur. Church settled against his chest, purring softly as if he sensed Jace’s distress.

Jace couldn’t imagine…

How could anyone ever hurt an animal, never the less a pet? But he knew that Shadowhunters had done worse throughout history. Even so, he couldn’t imagine if he were in Clary’s position right now and someone were to bring Church before him and threaten the sweet cat. Would he buckle, unable to watch his pet tormented? Would he manage to keep silent and watch? He knew he would never be able to betray Isabelle or Alec as he loved them even more than he loved Church. But there was a terrible darkness in Jace’s mind as he thought about it.

X X X

(1) A friend of mine told me that Isabelle and Alec’s parents actually are in charge of the New York Institute, but if they are, how come they didn’t show up in the first book? I mean, the whole Mortal Cup and daughter of Valentine thing deserves at least a ‘Hey, we should call our parents because they run this joint’ but there’s nothing. It doesn’t make sense to me so I’m shipping them off for now. I like my stories to make sense…

Questions, comments, concerns?

Review!


	8. Conversations and Warnings

Holy dialogue, Batman!

X X X

When Jace woke up the next morning, he knew immediately that he had to leave. Church was sitting beside him on the bed, hunched in on himself, eyes flinty and narrow as if he was hunting or frightened. When Jace finished getting ready for the day and moved towards the door, Church sat up very straight, arched his back, and hissed fiercely. Jace felt it too—the creepy coolness in the air that reminded him of a funeral or open grave waiting hungrily for a coffin. The Institute was crawling with Silent Brothers and Jace knew he had to leave.

He swung past the kitchen, peeking inside in search of Isabelle or Alec. Neither was there and there was no sign of breakfast. Next, he breezed past the library, pausing a moment at the threshold to search the shadows for his friends. Hodge’s raven spotted him and squawked loudly, his eyes bright and beady like Church’s. Hodge looked up from the manuscript he was reading and must have just barely glimpsed him because he called, “Jace? Is that you?” but didn’t follow to check.

Jace headed for the front door, halting only to grab a leather jacket with a hood. On the streets of New York, it was raining and the air smelled both clean with the fresh rain and disgusting with the scent of wet garbage in that way only New York could smell. Jace ducked his head against the cool wet slant of the falling droplets and brushed invisibly through all the other humans on the street. He glanced back at the Institute, peering through the rain and glamour. He could still feel Clary’s Morgenstern blood faintly, but there was nothing he could do for her now. Then, he turned his back on it.

He checked his pockets, feeling around for his Stele and finding a dagger secured in his boot. Maybe he’d walk through Central Park. It was far less full of demons during the day, but he was bound to find a fight sooner or later.

…

“Alec?” Hodge’s voice rang out sharply from the library.

“Close. Isabelle.” She peeked around the edge of the door. “What’s up?”

“Have you seen Jace?” he asked, stroking Hugo’s dark feathers.

“No,” she said. “I’ve been looking for him too.”

“Did you check the garden?”

“I’m on my way up there now.”

“Well, if you find him, let me know. I need to speak with him.”

Isabelle rubbed her arms, chasing away goose bumps. “You do? Or the Silent Brothers do?”

“I do,” Hodge said. “I know he’s been sneaking down to see Clarissa Morgenstern.”

Isabelle wet her lips, thinking of just the night before when Jace had come to her room to borrow some clothes for the girl. She wasn’t sure any of them were capable of forgiving Valentine Morgenstern, but Jace had always been someone very different. His emotions were often like a coin, flipping back and forth between hatred and concern. “He isn’t hurting her,” she said finally.

“I know,” Hodge said. “And that’s why I’m concerned.”

“Why?” she asked.

“We don’t know what Clarissa Morgenstern is planning. Did Valentine allow her to be captured on purpose or is this all an accident? Why is there a block in her mind yet she insists to know nothing? She attacked both Jace and another Shadowhunter—”

“Shawn Darklight raped her,” Isabelle protested.

“How are we to be certain of that?” Hodge interrupted, his eyes narrowing at Isabelle. “She’s a Morgenstern. She could be capable of anything. You’re still young, Isabelle, just like Jace… Young people tend to be more trusting and forgiving. I just don’t want to see Jace hurt again. You tell him that.”

Isabelle shied back, the words sticking in her skin like needles. She wanted to protest, but she knew everything Hodge said was true. She hadn’t even seen Clarissa Morgenstern and she already felt pity burning hollow in her heart just from Jace’s words. Instead, she merely nodded and said, “If—when!—I find him, I’ll let him know.”

“Good,” Hodge said and turned the page of his book. “And Isabelle?”

She froze in the doorway, fingernails carving into the soft wood.

“Be very careful,” Hodge warned her. “Don’t let your gentle heart get the best of you.”

She nodded with a quick nervous jerk of her head.

…

Isabelle and Alec were sitting in the entrance foyer of the Institute, playing a board game half-heartedly. Neither had the patience for chess and had taken up checkers a little over half an hour ago after their game of monopoly finally ended. No matter how they tried to hide it and look nonchalant as they bid farewell to the Silent Brothers, they were waiting up for Jace. Isabelle had already explained her conversation with Hodge to her brother and they agreed that they needed to talk to Jace together.

It was nearly nightfall by the time Jace returned, soaking wet with the side of his face looking like hamburger. He paused, leaning painfully against the wall as he stripped off his wet jacket, and then staggered through the parlor. Isabelle and Alec were on him like white on rice in a split second. 

“Jace, what the hell?” Isabelle demanded.

Alec pulled Jace’s arm over his shoulder, supporting him gingerly.

Jace tugged himself free. “I’m fine, I’m fine,” he told Alec. “Just a little mishap.”

“With what? A train?” Isabelle snapped. 

“It might have been a tree,” Jace told her.

“A tree?” Alec repeated and prodded the large gash on Jace’s cheekbone. It was hideously bruised underneath and the bones looked crushed. “A tree did this to you?”

“I have to shake that tree’s hand,” Isabelle said with a snort.

“I said ‘might’ have been a tree,” Jace said and pulled away from Alec with a hiss of pain. “It might also have been a nymph.”

“What were you doing with a nymph?” Alec demanded.

“Nothing.”

“Jace,” Isabelle said firmly.

“So she might have been helping the demon I was chasing,” Jace continued. “Or maybe it was just a freak accident.”

“You went out hunting alone?” Isabelle snapped, punching Jace in the arm.

“Ow, ow, ow!” Jace shouted at her. “That hurts! Do I look to be in any condition for you to be punching me?”

“You certainly deserve it,” Isabelle snarled. “You’re lucky I don’t hit you again. How many times have we talked about you going out on your own like this? Did you go to Central Park?”

“Maybe,” Jace muttered.

“Well, where else would you run across a nymph in New York? The only trees for miles are in Central Park.”

Alec separated them with a pass of his arm, sliding Isabelle to his left and guiding Jace to his right. Then, he stood between them like the Great Wall of China, stony and tired. “Let’s get you cleaned up, Jace. We need to talk,” he explained. 

“About what?” Jace asked, limping along beside Alec as the trio made their way to the infirmary. 

“About Clarissa Morgenstern,” Isabelle said quietly. 

“What about her?” Jace asked. “I’m not hurting her.”

“I told Hodge that,” Isabelle assured Jace. “It’s about something else.”

“What?” Jace asked again.

Alec pushed open the infirmary door and guided them inside. He sat Jace down on one of the beds and fished his Stele out of his vast pockets. It was an easy matter for him to draw a healing rune against Jace’s hairline and watch as the effects straightened out the damaged planes of his face. The bruises faded, the bones cracked and popped back into place, and the gash knit itself back together. As the rune faded away, its job finished, Isabelle handed Jace a wet cloth and let him mop the blood off his face.

“How’s my face?” Jace asked when he finished.

“Ruined forever. You’re hideous,” Isabelle said plainly. “Your womanizing days are over.”

Jace slid her a withering look. 

“Anything else hurt?” Alec asked before the two could leap at each other’s throats.

“I twisted my ankle a little, but I’m fine,” Jace said. “Now, tell me what’s going on with Clary.”

Isabelle heaved in a deep breath and sat down beside Jace on the bed. “Hodge is concerned that… Clarissa Morgenstern is first and foremost Valentine’s daughter. We don’t know what she’s capable of. He’s worried that you’re being to kind to her and that she’ll use you. What if she’s playing for your pity because you’re her age, Jace?”

For a moment, Jace stared at her and then his lips quirked into some semblance of a smile. “Hodge thinks I don’t already know that?” he chuckled. 

Isabelle stared at him, her eyes wide and dark. “What?”

“I know she’s just playing me for my pity, hoping I’ll let my guard down so she can escape. You heard what happened while Magnus Bane was healing her. She used that one moment of pity and weakness as a chance to escape,” Jace explained.

“But she didn’t,” Alec said quietly. “She came back to help you, didn’t she? She wasted her chance.”

“Then she must be here for a reason,” Jace said. “Valentine must have sent her specifically to infiltrate the Institute, to find out how much we know. She thinks she has my pity and some of my trust and I’m going to let her keep thinking that. Two can play her little game.”

Isabelle bit her lip. “But Jace,” she murmured, “what if it isn’t a game?”

Jace studied her. “You’re thinking about what Shawn Darklight did to her, aren’t you?”

Isabelle nodded. “Hodge said she might be lying, that she’s capable of anything…”

“From what I saw in the dungeon, what happened to her seemed to be the truth. I saw him violate her with his dagger. Who knows what else he could have done while she was alone down there?” Jace said and honest pity shown in his pale eyes. 

“Jace,” Alec murmured. “Do you pity her? Truthfully?”

Jace studied a lingering scrape on his arm. “In my way, I suppose I do,” he said finally. “I mean, even if Valentine sent her here, he couldn’t have planned everything. I’d like to think that he didn’t plan on having his daughter raped.” 

“But it doesn’t change anything,” Jace continued. “Clary is Valentine’s daughter and someday, I’ll kill him. No matter what it takes, I will have my revenge on him for what he did to my parents. This is just the means to an end.” He laid his hand on Isabelle’s shoulder, giving it a comforting squeeze. “I won’t let her trick me. I won’t get hurt. Don’t worry.”

“I have to worry,” Isabelle whispered. “You’re a brother to me.”

Jace smiled, his eyes soft. “I’ll be careful, I promise.”

“Promise me one more thing, then,” Isabelle murmured quietly.

“Anything,” Jace said gently.

Her blow was sudden and hard and pried a little gasp of surprise and pain from his lips. “Don’t you dare go off hunting in Central Park again without us!” Isabelle shouted and gave Jace several more hard punches to show him just how worried she had been for him.

Alec watched for a moment, shaking his head at their antics. Jace had grabbed a pillow and was using it as a shield, but Isabelle was as thin and quick as a snake. She struck out at random, occasionally being blocked and occasionally landing a fierce blow to Jace’s ribs. Alec waited until Isabelle had Jace backed into a corner and the boy looked suitably apologetic before he grabbed his own pillow and joined in, breaking up the fight and turning it into a playful romp.

…

Though Jace, Alec, and Isabelle usually tried to each dinner together each night, Hodge often ate in the library with Hugo. But tonight, for the first time in weeks, Hodge and Hugo entered the kitchen at mealtime with smiles. Maybe they had been drawn out by the delectable scent of Alec’s barbecuing, but even so, they were there and this felt more like family than it had in a long time.

“Mind if we eat with you tonight?” Hodge asked.

“Of course,” Isabelle said brightly. “Jace, you get out some more plates.” 

Jace couldn’t help his smile as he did so, shuffling the dishes and glasses to make room at the small table. Hodge pressed his shoulder against Jace’s for a moment and Hugo made his way onto Jace’s shoulder, nipping appreciatively at his pale hair. Jace petted the bird’s glossy feathers, gave him a bite of green bean, and then leaned over farther than Hodge was capable of with his old injuries so that Hugo could step onto the back of the chair. 

Alec brought over a plate of barbecued steaks and set them in the middle of the table beside Isabelle’s ears of corn. (Isabelle could boil water, open cans, and reheat things in the microwave with great success even if the rest of her cooking escapades were disastrous.) Jace poured out four glasses of milk and settled them down before fetching the butter, salt, and pepper. He slid in next to Hodge and gave Hugo another green bean.

“Jace,” Isabelle scolded. “You’re supposed to be eating those, not Hugo.”

“I’m a little too old to be told to eat my vegetables anymore, Isabelle.”

“You’re never too old to be told that,” Isabelle said and slid Hodge a stern look as he pushed his beans around his plate. “Hodge, a man your age should know better. Set an example!”

Alec, ever the model citizen, ate his beans in silence.

But after that, dinner settled into a more companionable and familial routine. Hodge asked them about their day and they returned the favor, inquiring about new books that were being added to the library. Jace accepted a lecture about being cautious with Clarissa Morgenstern with nary an eye roll, which was quite a feat for him considering he had already heard about it from Isabelle and often couldn’t tolerate being scolded twice. Alec told Hodge about the trouble his feather-staff had been giving him lately and soaked up some advice. Isabelle complained good-naturedly about the boys and her desire from some more girls in the Institute while Hodge chuckled and nodded.

“Goodness, so late already. Well, I think I’ll be off to bed,” Hodge said. “I’m not as young as I used to be. If you’d like to leave the dishes in the sink, I can do them in the morning as my thanks. Dinner was delicious.”

“Alright,” Alec said. “Thank you, Hodge.”

The older man smiled and stretched out his arm for Hugo, who had settled onto Jace’s shoulder in the hopes of getting more food. (Jace had been more than happy to oblige him with green beans and little slivers of meat.) The raven obediently climbed up Hodge’s arm and nipped lightly at his ear, thrilling in his throat. 

“You’ve had enough,” Hodge told the bird firmly. “Goodnight, children.”

Jace and Alec cleared the table, stacking the dishes neatly in the sink so Hodge could do them in the morning. Isabelle mopped barbecue sauce off the stove and tossed the cores from the corn into the garbage. With the kitchen as clean as it would be for tonight, the trio headed off to their rooms. 

When they parted in the hallway, Isabelle asked Jace, “Are you going to see her tonight?”

Alec stopped a few feet away to listen, his blue eyes gleaming in the darkness.

“Not tonight,” Jace said with a cat-like stretch. “Absence makes the heart grow fonder, after all. Let’s see if she misses me.”

“Goodnight, Jace,” Alec said and grasped Isabelle’s wrist before she could reiterate all the warnings Jace had already heard and apparently understood just fine. “See you in the morning. We’ll get some sparring done. I want to work on my stance with the feather-staff.”

Jace nodded. “Night.”

Their doors closed softly, like whispered breath.

X X X

Aww, no Clary for you in this chapter. I’m so evil (and apparently so is she).

Questions, comments, concerns?

Review if this made you smile!


	9. A Cry in the Night

This chapter is a little shorter than the others, but it was just such a perfect place to end the chapter… you’ll see!

X X X

The icy-cold of the stone floor was seeping into Jace’s bare feet, chilling him to the very core. Why was it so cold? He didn’t remember the dungeon ever being this cold—it felt as if Hell had finally frozen over, if that made any sense at all. His foot slipped on something wet that stuck to his heel, oozing unpleasantly between his toes. Glancing down, Jace realized he was standing in a long smear of blood.

Grimacing but unsurprised, he moved further down the hallway towards Clary’s cell, but when he turned the corner, all the lights were off. Pitch darkness rose up like a wall, impeding him. Jace reached out, groping blindly for the switch, but nothing happened when he finally found and flipped it. The darkness remained, seething like a living thing. He froze, listening, watching the shadows, uneasy.

There was a sound in the silence. 

Someone was whimpering, a small voice pleading and begging and crying. It was a girl’s voice. It must have been Clary. Were the Silent Brother’s still here? He was almost certain he had seen them leave. He didn’t hear another voice, just a rhythmic grunting sound and the muted slap of flesh-on-flesh. It was the sound of torture and pain, haunting in the dark.

Jace searched his pockets for his witchlight and let it illuminate the dark hallway. There was more blood here, glimmering wetly in the bright light. Jace stepped cautiously around the mess, his bare feet going numb on the icy stones. He reached Clary’s dark cell and lifted the witchlight. Shadows danced and darted, sliced by the bars, and it took a moment for Jace to discern what exactly he was seeing.

Clary lay on her back, an image in chiaroscuro. She looked almost overwhelmed by the darkness, her white limbs standing out against blackness and bruises. Her naked breasts heaved, appearing to pass in and out of some faint light as she breathed. Her arms were chained above her head, dark blood streaking down her wrists from her struggles. Her pale legs were spread, toes curled with pain, and there was a dark shape writhing against her. 

Jace pushed the door to the cell open, his voice ringing out. “Hey! What are you doing?”

The black mass turned. The light from Jace’s witchlight seemed to slide off of it like oil and water without illuminating any distinct features save the glint of white skin and it was a face Jace didn’t recognize. He glimpsed the strange countenance for only a moment—deep dark eyes like pits and hair so pale it looked white—and then the figure was gone like a wisp of smoke.

Clary rolled onto her side, drawing her legs tight against her chest and sobbing into her forearms. She looked very small and fragile, pitiable, like the kittens Jace saw so often abandoned on cardboard boxes on the sidewalks of New York City. 

Despite all he knew, Jace knelt beside her, the witchlight playing painfully on her nudity and injuries. He tried to console her, to gather her into his arms, but she struggled weakly against him, sobbing harder. Blood streaked her inner thighs and there was a painful-looking bite at her collarbone. The bright red seemed somehow harsher against the white of her skin and the black of the shadows. 

Jace pulled her forcefully to his chest, pinning her arms so she couldn’t lash out at him and stroking back her tangled blood-colored hair. “Shh,” he breathed into her. “Shh. You’re safe for now.”

Her hand pressed to his chest, nails scraping roughly over his skin. “Why?” she breathed out. “Why?”

He didn’t have an answer for her and instead held her silently. 

Her palm began to burn against his chest, heat gathering there like a brand, searing into him. He squirmed, trying to pull away from her, but it was as if every inch of her bare skin was gripping on to him. He couldn’t pull away. She was sucking at his body, drawing in his blood and strength, devouring him like a demon. He looked down at her in his arms and saw only the dangerous glint in her glowing green eyes and the wicked curve of her mouth.

“Let go of me!” he shouted, trying to wrench free of her. “Get off!”

“Jace,” she said and her lips pulled back over blood-red teeth. “Jace—”

“—Jace! Wake up! Get out of bed!”

Jolting upright sharply, Jace didn’t think he had ever been so happy to be disturbed as such an ungodly hour of the morning. Church was lying on his pillow, watching him, as he threw himself out of bed and rushed to the door. He threw it open to find Alec standing on the other side, hand poised to open the door. 

“Alec,” Jace gasped out.

“What’s wrong?” Alec asked. “I could hear you shouting all the way down the hallway. Were you having a bad dream?”

Jace breathed out heavily and lifted a hand to push back his hair. “I guess so,” he admitted. “Sorry I woke you.”

“I was already awake, getting a snack. Want to talk about it?” Alec asked.

“It’s nothing, probably just all the thoughts swimming around in my head forming into something nasty, like a breakfast shake.”

Alec wrinkled his nose, but continued seriously, “About Clarissa Morgenstern?”

Jace nodded. “Yeah, I dreamed that I was comforting her and she started to turn into Valentine, I guess. It was really bizarre.”

Alec studied Jace, took in the sheen of sweat on his brow and the way his hands were clenched into fists. “Jace,” he said after a long moment, “do you think this Clary is someone innocent? Do you think she really knows nothing about Valentine?”

Jace took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “I don’t know what I think,” he murmured. “I know what my head is telling me. I know what’s logical, but… I just… My heart is telling me something different. She doesn’t look capable of anything Valentine has done, Alec. You should see her—she’s so small and skinny.”

“Jace,” Alec said softly. “Please, I know we’ve said this too many times to count lately, but be careful.”

“I am being careful,” Jace said. “If nothing else, even if this is completely stupid, I’m still being careful. I’m not going to let her use me or fool me or hurt me, okay?”

Alec wet his lips and said softly, “Alright…” Then, he stretched out his hand for Jace to take which he did readily, gripping his friend tightly. “We’re parabatai. You can tell me anything and I’ll be here for you, you know that, right?”

Jace nodded. “Of course.”

“Isabelle, too,” Alec added.

Jace smiled. “Yes, I know. And I, for you.”

Alec squeezed his hand and then turned away. For the first time, Jace noticed that Alec was carrying a box of cookies. “I’ll see you in the morning, Jace,” Alec called. “Isabelle is going to make pancakes so maybe you want to think about having a midnight snack like I am.”

Jace made a face at Alec’s retreating back. He knew that even if Alec didn’t see it, he definitely felt it.

…

The next morning, though Alec tucked into Isabelle’s pancakes like a champ taking one for the team, Jace made a great show of being stuffed full of the fruit that she had sliced up. He chased the pancakes around his plate, occasionally taking a bite to appease Isabelle before immediately downing more fruit. Hodge was either more clever than them or else more of a wimp. He declined breakfast altogether, taking a large mug of coffee and a small dish of fruit for Hugo to his library.

After they finished, Alec pressed a kiss to Isabelle’s forehead and told her that he and Jace would clean up. She smiled and went to change out of her pajamas. Jace wrapped a plate of leftover pancakes to bring to Clary later that night. He’d see just how hungry she was. If she’d eat Isabelle’s pancakes, she’d have to be starving. Meanwhile, Alec tossed the rest of them into the garbage, burying them so Isabelle wouldn’t know.

Afterwards, Jace, Isabelle, and Alec headed upstairs to the training hall to vent some healthy aggression. Hodge was always telling them how important it was for a team of Shadowhunters to work well together. They needed to be able to understand without speaking, to guard and protect without a thought, and to stand firm together no matter the odds. Honestly, his breath was often wasted on this subject. Jace and the Lightwood siblings were the closest young team on the entire East Coast, undefeated by anyone in their age group and also one level above at all the Shadowhunter gatherings. 

They sparred and trained together tirelessly, never running out of things to talk about or things to work on. They were close enough to know each other’s flaws, to know exactly how to push each other to do one more bout, to know exactly when to stop before it went too far, and to know precisely how to push each other’s buttons. Jace rather enjoyed tormenting Isabelle even if he knew he’d feel the bite of her whip and Alec often figured it was good for his sister to be insulted by someone when most boys fell over themselves at her feet.

They took a break for lunch and visited with Church for a little while because the cat was feeling very neglected locked up in Jace’s bedroom and would probably start scratching up the furniture anytime now. Afterwards, they returned to training and practiced until they were numb and starving. Jace and Alec put their heads together and cooked up a nice dinner while Isabelle set the table. Hodge joined them for dessert and they chatted contentedly while Isabelle did the dishes. 

Then, everyone turned in for the night. 

Everyone, that is, except Jace Wayland.

He fetched Isabelle’s leftover pancakes from the back of the fridge and smothered them in syrup because he might have been suspicious of Clary but he wasn’t totally without a heart and those pancakes were unbearable without something on them. He also grabbed two bottles of water and a bowl of freshly-cut fruit. It was quite a challenge to juggle everything to the dungeon and then find a hand to open the doors with, but he managed. He was nothing if not determined. 

But Clary’s cell stood empty, the door hanging open.

X X X

Oh, what a painful cliffhanger. If I get lots of good reviews (as in ones that don’t just beg and cry for an update, but say something about the story), I might update sooner…

Questions, comments, concerns?


	10. The Empty Cell

I was surprised by how many guesses about Clary’s empty cell hoped for escape or else Jace bonding with her. Let’s see if you were right…

X X X

It was only the fact that he could still sense her Morgenstern blood nearby that kept Jace from immediately panicking at the sight of the empty cell. He set down the plate of pancakes and the water on the stone floor in a place free of blood and pulled his dagger from his belt. Gripping it tightly on the off chance that the Morgenstern girl was attempting escape, Jace prowled the confines of the dungeons without finding her. He paused, listening, and the Institute was quiet above his head. She must still be here somewhere.

He glanced at the floor, thinking of his dream. The stones were blood-stained but it was dry. Even so, there was a distinct path leading from Clary’s cell to the only real room in the basement—Jace knew that the room behind that door was used for torture and interrogation. What were the chances that the Silent Brothers will still here, trying to get her to tell them about her father? Jace was almost certain he had seen them leave. It was rather late, after all.

He wet his lips, chasing away the strange parallels between reality and his dream, and pressed his ear to the door. He couldn’t hear any voices on the other side of the door, but that didn’t mean anything when Silent Brothers were concerned. He listened harder for Clary’s voice, but there was only silence. Then, abruptly, he realized he could hear the quiet sounds of someone weeping. He listened for a few minutes longer until he was certain that Clary was alone in the room before he opened the door.

The room was rather clean and wasn’t sparse as Jace had been expecting. The walls were hung with every imaginable weapon or torture device from the Pear of Anguish to the Heretic’s Fork until there was hardly a breath of space between each. A bloodied whip was lying out. There was a low toilet in the corner beside a deep sink and a long tub. There was a hose with a showerhead attached to one end curled up like a snake in the corner and a drain in the very center of the room.

Was he dreaming now?

Clary was naked with her arms chained to a hook above her head at a painful pull that barely allowed her feet to touch the cold floor. Her pale skin stood out painfully white against the dark shadows, tainted with ugly bruises, just as she had looked in his dream. But unlike in his dream, there was no strange and shadowed figure raping her. She was alone and her back had been whipped cruelly, but most of the blood had been washed away. The Silent Brothers must have hosed her down.

Clary didn’t move even when Jace let the door slam behind him. Her head was slumped against her chest and he would have thought she was dead if not for the slow shallow intake of breath. He slipped his dagger back into his belt and searched a nearby trunk for a pair of cuffs, unwilling to take any chances with her. She was a Morgenstern, after all. He cuffed her wrists together before freeing her from the hook in the ceiling. Her body was limp and cold in his arms, warm blood splattering on the floor.

He lowered them both to the cold floor, crossing his legs to create a seat for her in his lap. “Hey,” he said softly. “Are you okay?”

She didn’t respond save a slight whimper escaping from her lips and a fluttering of her pale eyelids. Maybe she was the one dreaming.

Blood seeped slowly from her wounds, spilling over him. Jace rubbed her arms, trying to warm her up with friction, but even as the life came back into her skin, she didn’t stir. He glanced around the room, uncertain of what to do with her. She was in bad shape and his Stele felt as if it was burning a hole through his pocket. But even so, he was going to hear about it from Hodge if he wasted runes on her again. He’d just have to take a more old-fashioned method to helping her. 

The hose in the corner was connected to the Institute’s main waterline and was also affixed with hot and cold knobs. He could clean her up and warm her if he washed her, but that led him to a smaller problem—she was naked. It wasn’t that Jace particularly cared. He had seen a few naked beauties in his day, but this was Morgenstern’s daughter. He was too young and hot-blooded to clean her up with clinical efficiency and he didn’t want any of those thoughts swimming around in his head. That was the last kind of dream he needed Alec to check on him after.

But there didn’t seem to be any other real choice on the table. Jace gathered her up in his arms and stood up. He was surprised by how light and thin she was, but she was very slight and small so it shouldn’t have come as such a shock. He set her down in the tub, fired up the hose, and began to gingerly let the warm water pour over her. She twitched, moaning softly, and writhed in the bottom of the tub as if uncertain whether she wanted to get closer or farther from the warm water.

He hushed her, brushing back sticking tendrils of wet hair the color of old blood. Pity filled Jace’s heart as he saw the wounds on her. The Silent Brothers had beaten her within an inch of her life and painful signs of Shawn Darklight’s rape still lingered on her body. She curled up on her side, breath coming faster, and then suddenly, her eyes snapped open like twin doors blowing open with the force of a storm. She sat up sharply in the tub, reaching for the hose, but Jace didn’t let her have it. Instead, he pulled it aside and sat quietly, watching her pant for breath.

“Hi Clary,” he said after a moment.

She let out a startled shriek and her head snapped to face him. For a moment, she didn’t appear to recognize him in the depths of her bright green eyes. Then, she lifted her shackled hands to cover her breasts and murmured, “Jace, it’s you.”

“The one and only,” he said.

She leaned against the side of the tub, letting out a sigh of relief that he didn’t think was entirely directed at his comment. 

“Do you know where that nightgown I brought you went to?” he asked.

She inclined her chin slightly. “They put it in the sink, but I don’t know if it’s still there.”

Jace handed her the hose and said softly, “Why don’t you wash yourself up as best you can while I look for it?”

She took the warm hose gratefully, pressing it to the top of her head and letting the water pour over her. The small links of her cuffs tinkled softly and Jace suddenly had the feeling that they would do very little to stop her if she lashed out at him. He should have cuffed her hands behind her back to be safe, but it was too late now. “Thank you, Jace,” she murmured, breaking his thoughts.

Jace turned away while she bathed, searching first the sink and then every other nook and cranny for Isabelle’s borrowed nightgown. He finally found it in the same trunk where he had gotten the cuffs from and could have kicked himself for missing it the first time. He turned back to see her scrubbing her fingers through her hair, doing her best to wash the filth out of it. The curve of her neck was pale and beautiful, bruised with fingerprints in places so that it appeared she was wearing an obsidian necklace. Jace shook himself harshly, chasing those thoughts out with a flaming stick.

“Are you done yet?” he asked.

She glanced at him under the curtain of wet hair and nodded slowly. 

Jace shut off the water, rolled up the hose, and handed her the nightgown. 

“How am I supposed to put this on?” she asked him, holding up her cuffed wrists. “Don’t you trust me?”

“I trust you about as much as you trust me,” Jace told her sharply.

Clary’s lips quirked in a wry little smile. “I suppose that’s fair,” she said and dropped the nightgown over her head despite her wet skin. With her wrists cuffed together, she couldn’t put her arms through the sleeves and looked rather like a helpless butterfly half-in and half-out of her cocoon.

Jace grasped her elbow and helped her out of the tub, leading her from the torture chamber and back to her cell. He felt her muscles bunch under his hand and glanced back over his shoulder to see her looking towards the exit. Her eyes sparkled, dancing in the overhead lights, and Jace gave her arm a sharp jerk that made her stumble. 

“Don’t even think about it,” he warned her.

“I think you trust me less than I trust you,” she said lightly.

Jace snorted and pushed her into her cell. He locked her inside while he looked for the keys for the cell’s restraints and found a single key hidden in the shadow of the chamber’s doorway. He made her fish her wrists from inside the nightgown, snapped the chains to her wrists, and then unlocked the cuffs. She rattled them loudly, but then settled calmly into the corner of her cell. 

“What brings you down to me every night?” she asked. “It can’t be that good for you, unless you’re into that kind of thing.”

Jace glanced at her and fetched the meal he had brought down, handing it over to her.

She stared at the plate of Isabelle’s pancakes for a long moment and then passed it to him. “You first.”

Jace took a bite and hoped his eyes didn’t water. They must not have because Clary took up the fork like a warrior and ate desperately. She appeared to realize just how bad the pancakes tasted when she was halfway through the plate. She licked her lips and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. “Did you make these?” she asked.

“Another Shadowhunter living here did. Isabelle did.”

Clary wrinkled her nose. “These are terrible. Did she make them just for me, as punishment?” 

Jace shook his head. “Actually, she made them for her brother and me for breakfast this morning.”

Clary studied him for a moment. “Did you do something naughty to deserve this?”

He chuckled. “No, Isabelle’s just a really terrible cook. We’re hoping she’ll get better with practice.”

Clary took another bite and her eyes watered. “Did you actually eat these when they were put in front of you?”

Jace nodded, rubbing the back of his neck. He cracked open a bottle of water, took a sip, and handed it to her. “I know, but Isabelle’s like my sister. Love can buy you a lot of goodwill,” he said and Alec’s words slapped him in the face.

Clary took a long drink to wash away the taste of the pancakes. Despite how Jace knew they tasted, she finished them off. She must have been starving—Alec and Jace could stomach the pancakes because of their love for Isabelle, but if Clary had been able to eat them, Jace wondered if the Silent Brothers were feeding her at all. When she finished, Jace brought her the dish of fruit, picking out a piece of pineapple and popping it into his mouth. Clary picked through the fruit and ate only the pineapple. 

“Really?” Jace asked her.

She looked at him, her lips a thin bitter smile. 

He sighed, selected a piece of cantaloupe and then a slice of honeydew, and ate both. Only then did Clary finish the fruit and sit back against the wall, looking content. Jace opened the second water bottle, took a sip, and then handed it to her. Where she had drained the other in a few gulps, she cradled the cool bottle between her hands and savored it. 

“Why won’t you tell the Silent Brothers anything?” Jace asked abruptly.

Clary’s answer was just as quick. “Because I don’t know anything.”

“What about that block in your mind?” 

She rolled her shoulders. “I don’t know. Whatever it’s blocking, it’s keeping it from me too.”

Silence stretched between them like an iron curtain. Jace could hear the bright lights overhead buzzing quietly and Clary’s ragged breath rattle deep in her chest. Somewhere, something was dripping and he had the sudden thought that he had left the hose on in the torture chamber. He studied the little pictures Clary had drawn in blood on the walls and floor, trying to decide if she had drawn anything of importance or interest. Mostly, the images were childish and cheap—the sun, trees, grass, animals, stick people.

“Give me that fork I brought down,” Jace said.

With a heavy sigh, Clary pulled the fork from inside her sleeve and allowed him to take it. 

“Would you have tried to escape if I’d left it here? Used it as a weapon?” Jace asked.

“Wouldn’t you have in my position?” she countered and there was painful truth in her words.

Jace gathered up the dishes and empty water bottles, standing to leave. “You should talk to the Silent Brothers, Clary. Tell them everything.”

“I have nothing to tell,” Clary said and her green eyes flashed. 

“Have it your way,” Jace snapped.

“My way,” Clary said darkly. “Yes, this was exactly how I wanted to spend the last days of my life.”

Jace’s heart skipped a beat. “The last days of your life?”

Clary’s lips pulled back in a thin reptilian grin, but she didn’t elaborate further. “Thanks for the meal, Jace. Goodnight.”

X X X

Questions, comments, concerns? 


	11. The Last Days of Her Life

Man, I’m so tired… so many extra shifts at work…

X X X

It was crazy to think Jace could sleep after that. He paced the halls of the Institute restlessly, unable to sit in his room in the dark and quiet. His heart pounded, ringing in his ears. Clary’s words just kept repeating in his head over and over like a scratched record. ‘The last days of her life… the last days of her life…’ What did that mean exactly? 

Two things immediately came to mind. 

First, that the Silent Brothers had decided that she knew nothing and were going to kill her. Though Jace hoped they were wise enough not to kill an innocent like that, he understood that Clarissa Morgenstern was just too much of a liability to hold onto. There would be no way to be certain that she wasn’t a traitor. It would just be easier to kill her if she was useless.

Second, that Valentine was planning something. It seemed insane to think that Valentine would kill his own daughter, but the Silent Brothers had been working at her for nearly two weeks. What if Valentine thought they had broken her and she had betrayed all his secrets? Would he kill his own daughter for that? Or was this something deeper?

Jace wandered the hall between his room and Alec’s, his bare feet silent on the cool hardwood. 

He debated on waking Hodge to tell him what Clary had said. But what evidence did he really have that there was any danger coming, that there was any danger at all? So Clary had told him her life was coming to an end—that could mean anything—and Jace wasn’t sure he should care anyway. She was Morgenstern’s daughter and her father had butchered Jace’s parents in front of him as a child.

Jace stopped pacing and leaned against the wall, breathing hard. He focused on the pounding of his heart, the sharp intake of his breath, the tension in his muscles, and slowly let it all go until he could no longer even feel the press of the dagger in his belt. He breathed out softly, forcing himself to relax and think clearly. 

‘The last days of her life… the last days of her life…’

He didn’t know Clary well enough to decide if she was the type of person who would fear or welcome death, but the flash of her eyes and that thin smile on her lips made him think—fear. She must fear death even if she feared little else. Even if she was Valentine’s daughter, she was just a young girl.

Jace pushed back his hair, taking in another deep breath.

‘The last days of her life…’

Before she had said that, they had been talking about her father and the Silent Brothers. Jace had suggested that she tell the Silent Brothers what she knew and then she had said, ‘The last days of her life…’ Jace would think that if she knew the Silent Brothers had deemed her useless and were going to kill her, she would do everything in her power to avoid death. He was fairly certain that she feared dying, so it only made sense that she would try to avoid it by telling the Silent Brothers something to make them more inclined to keep her around.

‘The last days of her life… the last days of her life…’

Jace wet his lips, trying to put himself in her position and picture every detail on their conversation. Her death was apparently out of her hands and had nothing to do with the Silent Brothers. She must know something Jace didn’t know, something big that was coming soon, but not right now. She didn’t look sick and her wounds didn’t appear infected, but even if they were, Hodge would just call back Magnus Bane to heal her. Ruling out illness, Jace thought harder.

‘The last days of her life…’

His mind could come up with no other thought than it had something to do with Valentine. Valentine must be planning something, something that would cost Clary her life. If Jace were in her position, he would have tried to drop a small hint to someone he thought he could trust. Unfortunately for Clary, that person seemed to be him. Was Clary trying to warn him of something to come? Or was this just a trick so that she could escape?

But no, she was a Morgenstern and she was smart even if she was small and unremarkable. She wouldn’t have said something like that, shown her fear to Jace, unless she absolutely had to. In order to save her own life, she would have to drop a warning to someone she could trust. 

‘The last days of her life…’

Valentine was planning something and it would happen in the next few days.

…

It was some ungodly hour of the morning when the pounding came on Hodge’s bedroom door. Hugo, startled from his sleep, cawed loudly and fluffed up his wings, but he was only a raven and it was too early for the bird. The moon was still hanging in the sky and the sun was nowhere to be seen. Without further care, the raven tucked his head down against his wings and went back to sleep. 

Hodge, on the other hand, was not so lucky. He heaved himself out of bed, old wounds screaming in protest at the sudden awakening. He pulled on his robe, wishing the insistent pounding would cease, as he made his way to the door. He wasn’t really expecting some kind of emergency so he was surprised to find Jace Wayland on the other side of the door with his golden eyes bright and very wild.

“Hodge,” Jace gasped out. He was breathless as if he had been running. “Hodge, I have to talk to you.”

“What’s wrong?” Hodge asked, little red flags going up in his mind. “Where are Isabelle and Alec?”

“Still sleeping,” Jace said quickly. “Now, listen—”

“Jace,” Hodge said sternly. All his concern diminished. If something was really wrong, Alec and Isabelle would be with him. The three of them were inseparable in a crisis, none of them able to leave another behind for even a moment. “It’s very early. This had better be serious.”

“It is,” Jace insisted. “It’s about Clarissa Morgenstern.”

Hodge eyed Jace, taking in all the blood on his clothes and the dagger shining at his waist. “Jace,” Hodge said coldly. “If you killed her, there’s nothing I can do for you. The Silent Brothers will—”

“I didn’t,” Jace cut in. “Just listen to me. I can explain.” 

Hodge leaned against the threshold, watching Jace blearily but patiently. The boy then immediately vaulted into some long explanation of something Clarissa Morgenstern had said to him and how it was apparently a warning that Valentine was going to launch an attack. When he finished, Hodge still didn’t have a blasted idea what he was talking about, but he didn’t want to risk hearing the explanation again by asking questions. 

“Jace,” Hodge said. “Maybe you should go back to sleep. We can talk about this in the morning.”

Jace opened his mouth to protest. 

“If what you told me is true,” Hodge continued, “then we have time to discuss this further, alright?”

Jace nodded weakly. 

“Good,” Hodge said and then closed the door lightly in Jace’s face. 

…

Jace spent much of the next morning trying to corner Hodge so they could talk about what Clary had told him, but Hodge made himself very scarce. He spent a lot of time in the basement with the Silent Brothers whom Jace avoided like the plague. He retired to his room at mealtimes and also went to bed early that night and Jace didn’t dare go about banging on his door again. Effectively halted by Hodge’s avoidance of the topic, Jace turned to his only remaining hopes—and he really wouldn’t have had it any other way.

“Isabelle, Alec,” Jace said after dinner as the trio walked back to their rooms together. “Can I talk to you in my room?”

“Church is not moving in with me, Jace,” Isabelle said sourly. “I don’t do blue.”

“Not about Church,” Jace said. “Something else.”

“Is something wrong?” Alec asked.

“I’ll explain,” Jace said as he guided them into his room and closed the door behind them. 

Isabelle sat down on his bed, chattering loving words to Church and petting the cat contentedly. Church immediately rolled over so she could pet his belly and meowed happily. Alec, sensing the gravity in Jace’s voice, instead sat at the desk and gave Jace his undivided attention. Isabelle wasn’t too far behind and turned to face Jace, holding Church in her lap.

“What is it, Jace?” Isabelle asked. “You look pale.”

Jace sat down on the bed between them and begin explaining what Clary had said to him and al the logic he had poured into it. “So, I think Valentine is planning an attack on the Institute and that’s why Clary thinks her life is going to end,” Jace finished. 

For a moment, neither Isabelle nor Alec spoke. They both just stared at him with different expressions of shock, disbelief, and worry.

“If Hodge isn’t concerned, I’m not sure we should be,” Isabelle said finally.

Alec was always in Jace’s corner no matter the situation and when he saw the desperate look cross Jace’s features, he wasted no time backing his parabatai up. “I think it’s worth being concerned about. It makes sense to me,” Alec said. Then, to assuage the dirty look Isabelle slid him, he said, “An ounce of prevention is worth a pound of cure.”

She let out a long sigh. “I suppose,” she admitted.

Jace beamed at them. “Thanks guys.”

Alec inclined his chin and spread his hands to tick things off his long fingers. “So we should do a little light packing and sharpen our weapons, just in case something does happen. We’ll start talking escape plans, where we’re going to go if something does happen, and how we’re going to get there. Jace, you should talk to Clary and see if she’ll tell you anything more—anything she knows could help us.”

“I don’t think she will,” Jace said. “I think she’s too afraid.”

“It’s worth a try,” Alec said wisely. “Okay?”

Jace nodded. “Yeah.”

“We should be prepared to take Clarissa Morgenstern with us if Valentine does attack the Institute,” Alec continued. “If he’s coming here to kill her, she must know something and should be kept alive. And if he’s coming to reclaim her, same dice.”

Isabelle glanced at Jace and then voiced what Alec didn’t want to admit. “And if he’s coming to finish what he started with Jace?”

Jace’s back jerked ramrod straight and his fingers wandered to his throat where the lingering scar of a healing rune was all that remained of his life-threatening injury. 

“Then we protect him at all costs,” Alec said. He reached out to grasp Jace’s shoulder, giving it a comforting squeeze. “We stay together, no matter what happens.”

“If something happens,” Jace murmured.

Isabelle clasped her brother’s free hand and reached for Jace. It was always awkward to fall into a three-way embrace, but Jace wouldn’t have traded it for the world. The knot of worry that had been eating through his stomach finally subsided. Alec and Isabelle believed him, even if Hodge did not. If something happened, they would be ready.

‘The last days of her life…’

X X X

So hopefully everyone followed Jace’s explanation of how and why he thinks something is going to happen. The idea was super clear in my head, but I feel like it got kind of garbled as I wrote it out. That kind of stuff happens to me a lot.

Questions, comments, concerns?

Review!


	12. The Invasion

Wow, reviews for this story have dropped painfully low…

X X X

The next few days turned into a sort of blur wherein Jace tried to pretend everything was normal to Hodge’s face and planned countless just-in-case scenarios with Isabelle and Alec behind his back. He still brought Clary meals and did his best to repair her wounds without leaving runes on her skin all in the hopes that if he had to escape with her, she would be strong enough to run. He tried not to think that if she was a traitor and attacked him, he was only making her a stronger opponent. 

Three long days had passed since Clary had dropped what Jace thought was a hint about Valentine’s strike—‘the last days of her life’—and he was just beginning to think that he had been wrong after all when it happened. Jace had taken to keeping a Sensor on his nightstand ever since Clary had said something to him. He might have trained himself to sense Morgenstern’s blood, but he was no better at sensing demons than any other Shadowhunter. He was lying in bed, petting Church, when the Sensor started going off.

He threw himself out of bed, grabbed the rucksack he had packed with some clothes, food, and water, strapped all his weapons to his body, and was about to run down the hall to Isabelle’s and Alec’s rooms when Church’s soft meow stopped him. His mind was suddenly filled with thoughts of the cruel things a man like Valentine Morgenstern could do to a sweet innocent cat. Wasting precious time, Jace dumped some things out of his rucksack to make room for Church, apologized to the cat in advance, and then pushed the cat inside the bag. Apparently sensing the danger, Church settled down against Jace’s back without much complaint. 

Jace ran down the hall and threw open Alec’s door first. The Sensor was still going off in his hand and it took Alec mere seconds to follow Jace into the hallway. Together, they collected Isabelle and the trio dashed down to the entrance foyer of the Institute just in time to see the world as they knew it fall apart. 

The doorknob jiggled violently and then went still. Jace would have thought the demons had given up if not for the fact that the Sensor was still alive in his hand. The trio waited, crouched together around the corner, watching.

“Get out of the way,” came a voice on the other side of the door.

Chills rant through Jace’s body. He knew that voice.

Again, the knob jiggled, twisting this way and that.

“Jace?” Alec breathed against the shell of his ear.

“It’s him,” Jace whispered.

The door blew open, breaking off its hinges and flying across the room with a deafening crash. Demons poured into the Institute, howling and snarling. Several massive Forsaken lumbered inside, the stench of death coming in with them. Standing at the center of the terrible army like a rock that the ocean broke against was Valentine Morgenstern. He had pale hair and eyes as deep and dark as the descent into hell, but his lips were curved into a victorious smile. It took Jace a moment to realize that he looked a lot like the figure who had been raping Clary in his dream and his heart lurched uncomfortably in his chest.

“Find her!” Valentine shouted and there was no doubt in anyone’s mind who he had come here for.

“There are too many,” Alec said insistently and Jace suddenly realized that his friend had been trying to pull him away. “Jace, don’t be stupid. There are too many.”

“We have to get out of here,” Isabelle whispered and there was fear in her face even if it wasn’t in her voice. “Alec is right.”

“We have to get Clary out of here with us,” Jace told them suddenly.

“There’s no time,” Isabelle said. 

“No,” Jace said firmly. “We have to make time.”

“What about Hodge?” Alec asked.

Jace froze, but forced himself to speak. “Clary’s more important to the Shadowhunter world right now. Hodge is older than us and I’m sure he can get himself out.”

Alec jerked his head in a sharp understanding nod.

Isabelle grabbed Alec’s elbow. “They’re coming. We have to go!”

Together, the three of them sprinted down the hallway, skidded around corners, and finally reached the dungeon doorway. Jace pulled his Stele from his pocket and quickly drew the opening rune into the door. The steps were dark and it looked like the descent into hell, just like Valentine’s eyes.

“You wait here,” Jace told Alec and Isabelle. “Cover our exit.”

Alec nodded and Isabelle unfurled her whip.

Jace quickly descended the steps, one hand on the wall. He made his way through the dark on memory alone and turned the lights on in Clary’s cell. She was on her feet, heaving against her chains and cursing. When the lights went up, she whirled around with her hand thrust out defensively. Her palm gleamed white as bones. Jace couldn’t help but think of what she had done to his chest during her last escape attempt.

“Jace,” she gasped.

“I’m here to help you,” he said and quickly opened the door to her cell. “I’m going to get you out of here.”

She lowered her hand and offered her chained wrists. “You understood my warning,” she said softly.

“Thanks for that, by the way,” he said as he unlocked the heavy chains. 

Clary rubbed her freed wrists, wincing. “Thank me later,” she said. “I’m the reason he’s here right now.”

Jace heard the snap of Isabelle’s whip upstairs and wasted no more time talking. He grabbed Clary’s cold hand and dragged her behind him through the dark. He exploded out of dungeon in the midst of Alec and Isabelle fighting off a few low-level demons. He drew his blade, slashing a few aside and still holding Clary’s hand tightly. 

“Let’s go!” he shouted over the din of screaming foes. 

Isabelle and Alec turned easily and fell in behind him as he towed Clary through the many halls of the Institute. 

Jace turned a corner and came sharply face-to-face with a massive Forsaken. The stench of its death and decay overwhelmed him, filling his lungs like water. The creature didn’t even consider whether he was friend or foe before lifting its massive hand to smash down on him. Jace was wielding only a tiny dagger and he didn’t have time to reach for a larger weapon, Alec and Isabelle were too far behind him to be of any help, and he knew he was dead. But Clary, still trapped at his side by his grip on her hand, lashed out as quick as a snake. Her hand seemed to spark with fire for a moment and the Forsaken fell back, wheezing harshly. Blood oozed from its nose and mouth.

Jace glanced at her, his heart pounding with shock.

“Keep going,” she panted.

Isabelle and Alec crashed into their backs and they all started running again. Jace had lived in the Institute for much of his life and he had never found it too big. In fact, he sometimes found it confining like a prison, but right now, it felt as if it went on forever. Clary’s breath was coming harsh and pained beside him and he found himself gripping her tighter and pulling her along under his power. It was exhausting, but then the door appeared like an answered prayer.

Jace grabbed the knob and threw it open. The four of the them spilled out into the streets of New York City, stumbling through the ankle-deep garbage of an overturned dumpster. It was pouring rain, but that was a blessing right now. It would cover their scent and any other traces of them. 

“Hurry,” Alec said, slamming the door behind them and drawing a quick rune to delay any pursuers. “Hurry!”

Jace adjusted his grip on Clary’s hand, took a moment to be certain Isabelle and Alec were alright, shifted the bag across his shoulders, and took off running again. All the humans on the street looked startled as something invisible hurtled past them.

…

Alec, Isabelle, and Jace had decided in advance that if something happened at the Institute, they would go to Taki’s Diner and that had sounded like a grand idea at the time. But now, with demons and Forsaken ripping apart their home, it suddenly didn’t seem like such a bright idea. Even so, it was where Jace’s feet brought him and the others followed. They spilled into the diner, soaking wet and panting and surprising ninety percent of the clientele. 

The only one who wasn’t shocked to see them was Kaelie. “Well, look what the cat dragged in,” she said. “You all look like hell.”

Jace said quickly, “How about a booth, Kaelie? And you may as well bring us the usual.”

She nodded and tipped her chin at a vacant booth. “You know the drill by now.”

Jace nodded, trying to catch his breath but all he seemed to be breathing in was his own wet hair.

Alec pressed his hand to the small of Jace’s back and pushed him out of the doorway towards the open booth. Clary slid in first, slumping against the table and coughing weakly. Her wet hair was plastered to her face and she shivered in the soaked material of Isabelle’s borrowed nightgown. Jace sat down beside her, pushing back all his wet hair and taking a deep breath. Isabelle and Alec slid in across from them with Isabelle on the inside. Isabelle immediately began wringing out her sopping long hair, but Alec didn’t look bothered at all by the soaked state of him. He immediately started rummaging through the bag he had packed, searching for some money.

Kaelie returned with their usual orders, adding one for Clary. (1) She settled down fours mugs of steaming coffee first and then turned away for a moment to return with their food. She set a stunning cheeseburger with bacon and thick-cut fries in front of Alec along with a bottle of ketchup that looked like it hadn’t been opened in years. She handed Isabelle a light salad decorated with lots of freshly-cut fruit and even some whipped cream. Then, she slid two identical plates of thick hoagies with tons of meat and cheese followed by an overflowing bowl of potato chips before Jace and Clary. 

“I didn’t know what to bring her so I just brought her what you usually order,” Kaelie said and then pointedly looked at Jace. 

It took him a moment to realize he was still holding Clary’s hand and hastily put it down. “Listen, Kaelie, it’s not—”

She cut him off. “Don’t explain. I don’t want to know,” she said. “Enjoy your meal.”

The slanting rain pattered against the window, making it look like the glass and much of the city beyond it was melting. Clary was the only one who began eating, sipping her coffee quietly as if her breath was too loud. Jace, Isabelle, and Alec all stared at their food blankly for a long moment. 

It was Isabelle who broke the heavy silence as she reached across the table to add sugar to Jace’s coffee and guided Alec’s hands to wrap around the warm mug. “So,” she said slowly. “What do we do now?”

“I don’t know,” Jace said and took a sip of his coffee before popping a chip into his mouth. “Alec?”

Alec was older than both Jace and Isabelle and though he often followed Jace’s lead, he was elected team leader anytime Jace didn’t have a clue. “I don’t know either,” he admitted quietly. “Let’s just eat. Maybe something will come to us.”

Once they started eating, they found themselves to be just as hungry as Clary was. They hadn’t realized just how stressful and exhausting the flight from their home had been until they actually took a moment to breathe. Kaelie cleared their empty plates and refilled their coffee mugs and left, leaving them to talk in private.

“Is anyone hurt?” Jace voiced.

Isabelle and Alec both looked each other over while Jace studied himself. He had a few bruises, but it could have been a lot worse. What would have happened to him if that Forsaken had managed to smash him like a cockroach? Well, there wasn’t much of a ‘what if’ to that situation. He would be dead, hands down, if it wasn’t for Clary.

“Clary?” Jace turned to face her. 

She was leaning against the wall, braced in the corner of the booth. Her exposed skin was peppered with goose bumps and she was shivering in the damp chill of her soaked clothing. She was holding her hand to her chest, her other hand wrapped limply around the warm coffee mug. 

“Clary?” he asked again.

Her eyes fluttered open and they were very bright green. “Thanks,” she murmured.

“Are you okay?” Jace asked.

She nodded and made a little sound in her throat. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

Jace turned back to Alec. “We’re all okay,” he said. “Now what?”

“Maybe we should go to another Institute, tell them what happened, and try to regroup,” Alec suggested.

Clary shook her head. “No,” she said. “When Valentine doesn’t find me at your Institute, he’ll search the next closest one.”

“Then we have to warn them,” Isabelle said.

“They won’t believe you. Just look at you,” Clary said but not unkindly. “You’re only kids—even if you are Shadowhunters, adults are still adults—and you look like you’ve been put through the wringer.”

“She’s right,” Alec agreed. “They won’t believe us. There’s nothing we can do.”

Jace banged his fist down on the table. “There’s always something!” he protested.

“Yes,” Alec said maturely. “We can keep Valentine’s daughter safe so we have something to work with after this blows over.”

“We can get a hotel room,” Isabelle put in. “There are a lot of them here.”

Alec nodded. “That’s a good idea.”

“Then it’s settled,” Isabelle said and pushed away her mug. “Let’s go.”

And then Jace’s rucksack meowed plaintively. Everyone looked at him.

“Oh,” Jace said and pulled the bag into his lap so he could loosen the drawstring. Church poked his blue head out, meowing loudly. “It’s Church. I forgot that I brought him with me.”

For a moment, Isabelle and Alec just stared at Jace, stunned. 

“You brought Church with you?” Alec said lamely.

“Well, yeah,” Jace said and scratched the cat behind the ears. “He was in my room and I just grabbed him.”

Clary leaned close, cooing softly to the cat. Her body was warm against Jace’s side, her breasts soft on his arm, and it took a lot of willpower not to pull away. She petted Church happily and the cat didn’t appear to mind, soaking up the attention like a sponge.

“Kaelie?” Jace called and lifted a hand to get the waitress’s attention. “Can I get some cat food?”

It must not have been as strange an order as Jace thought because Kaelie didn’t look surprised at all and came back a moment later with a nice plate of sardines and tuna. Church began eating with just as much vigor as they had, purring contentedly.

X X X

(1) I looked all over ever-loving tarnation to find out what Jace and the gang usually order at Taki’s Diner and could find NOTHING! So, behold, this is my definition of what these people apparently eat on a regular basis. 

Questions, comments, concerns?

REVIEW!


	13. Aftershock

I’m so exhausted… I’m ready for my dumb coworker to be better and come back to work. I don’t need anymore shifts…

X X X

The group had made themselves visible to humans because it was too much trouble to keep their glamour up. Besides, this was New York and it was after midnight. Looking how they did with all their weapons and runes-shaped-like-tattoos was probably more of a help at this point. 

Jace was leading the group with Clary leaned against his side, her hand still clasped in his. He was half-concerned that she’s try to escape and go running back to her father and half-concerned that she’d lash out at him with that hand of hers. Until he was certain he could trust her, it just seemed like a better idea to hold onto her. Isabelle was a few steps behind him, so close that she occasionally bumped into his back when he stopped, and Alec was bringing up the rear cautiously.

“How about that one?” Jace asked.

Isabelle followed the line of his finger. “The Inferno,” she read aloud.

“That sounds like a typical place for Shadowhunters to go,” Alec put in from behind.

“They pay by the hour there, Jace, Alec. You know what that means,” Isabelle said.

Jace slid her a crooked little grin and Alec made a disgusted sound in his chest. Isabelle tossed some dark tresses over her shoulder and kept walking.

“How about this one?” Jace asked again, pointing up at the glowing blue sign of a Motel Six. 

“Too sleazy,” Isabelle said.

“Izzy,” Alec groaned, hefting his bag higher up on his shoulder. “Can you please just pick one?”

“They have a pool. How about that one?” Jace asked for what felt like the millionth time. 

This time, Isabelle finally nodded. “Okay, that’s good.”

Together, the four of them trooped in and paid for a room with two double beds. Jace lied through his teeth when the clerk at the desk asked if they had any pets. Church was still hunkered down in Jace’s bag, blessedly quiet. Alec accepted the key and handed Isabelle the change. Then, the four of them made their way upstairs to their room.

It was an average sort of room, just an impersonal as the spare rooms at the Institute but far less comfortable. The beds were covered in sickeningly sea-foam-green spreads and Isabelle went about tearing them off immediately. Alec began turning on lights until the room felt like a beacon, but didn’t exactly feel any safer even will all the lights burning. Jace set down his bag, released Clary for what felt like the first time in hours, and let Church out of his rucksack. The blue Persian stretched appreciatively, prowled the room for something only he knew, and then settled down to sleep on one of the beds.

Isabelle picked at her hair. “I don’t know about you, but I’m dying for a shower.”

“Is that what that smell is?” Jace asked. 

Isabelle slid him an impatient look and fished through her bag for dry clothes. She had packed two more sets than the boys had and, for once, had a good reason. She handed Clary a dry change of clothes and gave the girl a little smile. “Here. After I’m done, you can take a shower too.”

Clary’s face was pale and surprised, her green eyes wide, and her fingers were icy-cold where she touched Isabelle to accept the clothes. “Thanks,” she breathed out.

Isabelle nodded slightly, pity welling in her heart like too much blood. She glanced at Jace and knew that he understood what she felt. He was feeling it too. “Okay,” Isabelle said. “I’ll just be a few minutes.”

“We’ll be here,” Alec told her and began unpacking weapons from his rucksack.

Jace watched Clary for a moment, but she looked too worn-out to try anything. She sat down on the bed next to Church, clutching Isabelle’s clothes to her chest like a small child and petting the cat softly. Jace turned away from her and pulled his Sensor out of his bag, turning it on and setting it on the nightstand. 

“Looks like this place is pretty demon-free,” Jace told Alec.

“That’s a shock,” Alec muttered.

“Are you okay?” Jace asked his friend.

“Yeah, I’m just worried about Hodge,” Alec said.

“I’m sure he’s fine,” Jace said, but he didn’t really believe his own words. Too many demons had invaded the Institute, led by Valentine Morgenstern. Jace pressed his lips together. If anything happened to Hodge, it had been his idea to leave their mentor behind and it would all be his fault. 

“Don’t,” Alec said.

“What?”

“Don’t think that.”

Jace sighed heavily, but didn’t argue one way or the other.

Isabelle emerged from the bathroom just then in a waft of steam. She was drying her hair with a towel, her bare skin gleaming in all the lights, and she suddenly looked very tired. There were dark circles beneath her eyes, but that might have just been the lingering touch of eyeliner. “Okay, Clary, your turn,” she said kindly as she draped her clothes over a metal hanger in the little closet to dry.

“Any windows in there?” Jace asked, for once thinking logically rather than about the prospect of peeping. He didn’t want Clary to escape out a window like a high school student sneaking off on a date with someone her parents didn’t like.

Isabelle glanced at him and appeared to realize why he asked. “No,” she said.

“Thank you,” Clary said quietly. She rose to her feet, crossed the room, and closed the door softly behind her.

Church meowed at the loss of her petting hands and greedily pushed his head into Jace’s elbow.

The moment the door shut, Alec rose to his feet and came to stand between Jace and Isabelle. “I didn’t want to say anything when she was here with us, but you don’t think she’ll lead Valentine to us somehow, do you?”

Jace shook his head. “I doubt it. I mean, she’s the one who warned us he was coming.”

Isabelle chewed the corner of her lips. “Do you think she’s… innocent in all this? Do you think it’s possible that she knows nothing about Valentine?”

Silence stretched between them, broken only by Church’s soft meows for attention and the sound of the shower running.

“No,” Jace said finally and his voice cut through the silence like a hot knife through butter.

Isabelle turned to face him fully, shock showing on her face. Alec looked surprised too as if he had expected Jace to leap to Clary’s defense.

“She knew Valentine was coming,” Jace continued. “She didn’t just guess that information. She had to have known somehow. She has to be part of Valentine’s Circle, but,” he held up his hands, “maybe there’s more to this than meets the eye. Let’s be careful, just in case, but my gut tells me she’s not a danger to us. In fact, she might be a danger to Valentine.”

“Even so,” Alec said slowly. “I think we should sleep in shifts tonight. She might have helped us get out of there, we don’t know if we can trust her. For all we know, this is just a ploy to get to Jace so Valentine can finish what he started with your family.”

Jace shuddered, hand going to his throat out of habit alone.

“Agreed,” Isabelle said and reached to touch Jace’s shoulder.

He nodded. “Yeah. I’ll take the first shift,” he said. “I’m too wired to sleep right now.”

Alec gave Church a scratch. “You shower next, Jace. You stink.”

Jace turned his head and gave himself a sniff. Boy, he did stink. It must be from how close he had gotten to that Forsaken. If Clary hadn’t saved him with whatever power she had in her hand, he would have a lot more problems than just smelling bad right now.

The bathroom door opened and Clary stepped out, hanging the damp nightgown she had been wearing up alongside Isabelle’s clothes. If she knew they had been talking about her (which the three of them all gave away easily by turning to look at her), she feigned ignorance.

Jace grabbed some dry clothes and said, “My turn.”

…

After everyone was dry and clean, they settled into sleeping arrangements. It was agreed that Clary would take a bed to herself since no one was certain it was safe to be sleeping beside Morgenstern’s daughter. Alec and Isabelle would share the other while Jace stood watch in case something happened. Alec would take the next shift and Jace would slide in with Isabelle. Then, Isabelle would take the final shift and the boys would just have to get over sharing the covers with each other.

“Night,” Jace said to Alec and Isabelle and shut off the lights. He pulled up a chair and cradled his witchlight in his palms, enjoying the soft glow spreading between his fingers. Church came to settle on his lap, purring and warm and alive. Jace stroked the cat’s soft blue fur and gazed out the window at the night beyond.

It didn’t take long for everyone to fall asleep. The past few days had been restless and the night was nothing short of exhausting. Isabelle soon had her pillow folded over her head, muffling out the sounds of Alec snoring. Clary lay quiet and alone, her chest rising and falling peacefully. Jace leaned back against the chair and tried to relax a little.

About an hour into his watch, Clary stirred quietly on the bed and sat up slowly. She combed back her curtain of blood-colored hair and smoothed the covers down over her legs.  
Jace glanced at her, his golden eyes glowing in the dark with the same strangeness as her green ones. “Don’t even think about it,” he said, but jokingly.

She smiled and ran her fingers over the bracelets of bruises on her wrists. “I’m not going to run away,” she said seriously. 

“Because Valentine’s out there?”

She didn’t answer, but crawled to the edge of the bed so she could whisper to Jace as to not wake Alec and Isabelle. “Thank you,” she said.

“For what?” Jace asked.

Again, she didn’t answer and merely sat silently with her bruised hands folded in her lap.

“Are you ever going to tell me about yourself or just remain this mysterious enigma forever?” Jace asked with a heavy sigh.

Clary glanced at him, the corner of her mouth pulling up. “Doesn’t the mystery turn you on?”

Jace pinched the bridge of his nose. “Now I know how Isabelle feels dealing with me all the time,” he muttered and slid her a thin glare. “Can you ever answer one of my questions straight?”

Clary reached over and began to pet Church without answering. 

“Why are you awake? Can’t you sleep?” Jace asked her.

This question, she saw fit to answer. “I’ve forgotten what it feels like to sleep in a bed,” she said softly.

“Yeah, you were in the dungeon at the Institute for about two weeks,” Jace whispered. 

She smirked at him and her face was a mask that hid her emotions. “That wasn’t so bad. I had a pretty boy bringing me room service.”

“Really now?” Jace asked her, lifting his brow flirtatiously.

She laughed softly behind her hand and Jace saw the pale shape of the rune he had used on her broken fingers what felt like an eternity ago. 

“So, being in the dungeon wasn’t all that bad?” He studied the thinness of her hands, the set of her jaw and the line of her shoulders, and the strength in her entire form. “Have you been through worse?” he asked without truly meaning to.

“Yes,” Clary murmured sadly and there was so much more in her voice and expression. “Yes…”

Jace glanced at her and her face was very sad in the dim glow of his witchlight. She was biting her lower lip softly and her brows were drawn together in the way Isabelle’s often did when the anniversary of her parents’ disappearance came about. Her bright green eyes glistened and her thin fingers trembled as she stroked Church. 

“Yes?” he repeated.

She looked startled, as if she hadn’t intended to speak out loud, and began to pull her hand away. “Goodnight, Jace,” she said abruptly.

He grasped her hand and was surprised to find her fingers were icy-cold. He set his witchlight on top of Church in his lap so he could rub her fingers between his warm palms. “Tell me,” was all he said, keeping his voice soft and tender.

She stared at their hands, but didn’t pull away. “What’s to tell?” she murmured.

Jace didn’t answer, just sat quietly beside her. 

“I’m sure you’ve been through bad things too,” she said to him and tried to pull away again.

Jace tightened his grip on her fingers and he whispered, “Valentine Morgenstern butchered my parents right in front of me when I was only a child. Then, he tried to kill me.” His hand wandered to his throat, but no scar remained.

Clary gasped quietly, her breath light and warm on his skin with her closeness. This time, when she tried to pull away, he released her. She clutched her hand to her chest as if she had expected him to tear it from her body. Silence spread between them.

“Valentine is…” Clary paused, fumbling helplessly for a word.

“A bastard?” Jace offered.

She flinched.

“Did he ever hurt you?” Jace asked suddenly. 

Clary didn’t answer, shrinking away from him as if expecting an attack, and Jace wondered what his face must have looked like right then. Did his hatred for Morgenstern’s blood show through, blinding and nasty? Or did she see his potent sadness shining in a secret place in his eyes?

“Clary,” Jace murmured.

She twisted a lock of hair around her finger nervously. “So what if he did?” she said softly and curled her fingers over the bruises on her wrists. “So what?”

Jace just stared at her, his golden eyes catching the witchlight oddly.

Clary turned away from him, flopping down on the bed and pulling the covers up soundly. “Goodnight, Jace,” she said again.

But, as before, he didn’t allow her to flee the conversation that easily. “Did Valentine keep you locked up, Clary?” he asked. “Is that how the Shadowhunters caught you? You escaped from him only to fall into the arms of another cruelty.”

“Does it matter?” she hissed at him.

Jace was quiet for such a long moment that she was beginning to think he had let this topic go when he finally spoke. “It matters…” He breathed quietly. He had no idea how it must feel to believe there was no one who cared what happened to you. He had always had Alec and Isabelle and they were inseparable. Then, he whispered, “Can I trust you at all, Clary?”

“A little,” she confessed. 

A soft weight settled on the bed and Clary tensed. Her shoulders looked like stone fortresses beneath the blankets, her fingers twisting in the material tightly. She appeared to want to say something, her tongue darting out to wet her lips. But then Church snuggled against her, softly purring, and she let her breath out in a sigh of relief. Church settled down on her pillow, set there by Jace, and meowed quietly. She lifted a hand and stroked the cat tenderly. Jace sat in silence on the chair at the foot of her bed, his pale face illuminated softly by his witchlight so that he looked like a cautious moon.

X X X

Questions, comments, concerns?

Review if you like this!


	14. Returning to the Institute?

Happy Halloween!

X X X

The next morning dawned painfully sunny and clear. Though Isabelle was loathe to wake Alec and Jace, she knew she had to. Alec had taken the middle watch because it was the worst and Jace didn’t sleep very well under the best of circumstances. Clary had already gotten up and was sitting at the window with Church in her lap. Isabelle tucked a sheet of dark hair behind her ear and leaned over the bed, rousing her brother first and then Jace.

Both sat up with a lot of grumbling and groaning. Alec scraped himself off the pillow and scrubbed his face with his hands, bemoaning the stubble that seemed to form whenever his back was turned. Jace’s hair was sticking straight up in the back like a rooster’s crest and there were dark circles under his golden eyes. Church jumped down from Clary’s lap and made his way over to them, meowing loudly in the early morning stillness.

Isabelle gave them each a weary smile. “Good morning,” she said.

“What time is it?” Alec asked.

“Too early,” Jace muttered.

“Precisely,” Isabelle said, “but we should probably get moving. We need to regroup with the Institute.”

Alec got out of bed and went to the bathroom to brush his teeth and wash his face. He didn’t spare Clary a passing glance, uncertain of how to respond to having Morgenstern’s daughter in the same room as him. Valentine had caused his parabatai and closest friend a lot of grief, after all.

Jace nodded sleepily and heaved himself out of bed, stumbling over Church. “Dang it, Church. Why do you always have to try to kill me?”

The blue cat meowed, looking up at Jace with bright innocent eyes.

Jace sighed and waited for Alec to finish in the bathroom. Then, he did his best to tame his hair and brushed his teeth. Isabelle had finished packing up their belongings and Alec was counting their remaining money by the time he came out. 

“Well?” he asked as he eased Church down into his rucksack.

Alec rolled his shoulders. “Hopefully, we can go back to the Institute.” 

“And if we can’t?” Jace asked.

“We probably have enough for breakfast, but not for another hotel room. We’ll need to think of something more permanent,” he explained. 

“What about the Silent City?” Isabelle put in.

Jace glanced at Clary, thinking of everything the Silent Brothers had done to try to get her to talk. Now that Valentine had attacked, it would probably grow worse—tenfold. Jace didn’t want to go to them unless it was the last resort and he knew the Lightwood siblings understood that just by the expression on his face. 

Silently, they gathered everything up and stepped out into the bright morning.

Invisible to normal humans, the four teens drew to a halt a few blocks away from the New York Institute to discuss how to proceed. It wasn’t safe for just one person to walk the rest of the way and see if the Institute was still crawling with demons, but it wasn’t safe for one person to stay behind alone with Clarissa Morgenstern either. 

“Maybe we should all go,” Jace said finally.

“We can’t all go,” Alec said seriously. “What if something happens?”

“I’ll go,” Isabelle interrupted both boys. 

She was touched by the stricken look that crossed both their faces followed by a quick, “No!” in unison.

She folded her arms over her breasts. “Face it, I’m the best choice. You two are parabatai, better together if something does happen. With my whip, I have the longest range and the best chance of escaping an attack if one does come. I have to go and you two have to stay.”

“No,” Alec said, grasping her arm. His blue eyes looked like little lonely chips of sea-glass, beat smooth by the pounding of the ocean but unwilling to go into those dark shoals again. “No, Isabelle.”

Jace’s face looked just the same, but his hands were occupied holding Clary by the elbow and Alec’s feather-staff with the other.

“I’ll be fine,” Isabelle assured them. 

Then, she peeled Alec’s fingers off her arm, pressed a quick kiss to his cheek, turned away, and walked down the block with a confident swing in her step. They watched her go in concerned silence, hearts pounding because they knew she was right but they didn’t have to like it.

…

Isabelle curled her fingers around the handle of her whip the moment she could no longer feel their eyes on her. She didn’t want to admit it, but she had a horrible feeling welled up in her chest and it was smothering her until she thought that her heart might burst from the pressure. She knew something was wrong, something irreplaceably and irrevocably wrong. The walk through New York’s streets had never felt so short, but she was suddenly just a few yards from the Institute.

It reared up into the sky like a horse about to bolt, dark spires stabbing up violently, and the normally-bright windows were all dark. The large front doors hung open on ruined hinges, spilling open on a scene of carnage and blood. Even if the demons’ bodies had dissolved without a trace, the blood remained.

Isabelle approached the Institute with caution, pulling Jace’s Sensor from her pocket and studying the levels of activity. The Sensor was doing a lot of beeping and flashing, but it was probably from all the residual effects of the attack. She tucked it into her back pocket and gripped her whip tighter.

She walked up the steps, the heels of her boots tapping hollowly like someone driving in nails, and peered inside. The foyer was trashed and the body of a Forsaken lay in a stinking heap. Had Hodge done all this? Taken down countless demons and Forsaken to protect the Institute? 

Hodge’s raven, Hugo, was perched on the finial of the banister, picking at something she didn’t want to think about. When he saw Isabelle, he cawed loudly and flew off down the hallway.

“Hugo,” Isabelle whispered after the bird.

If he heard her call, he wasn’t inclined to return.

Isabelle stepped inside the Institute and followed cautiously down the hallway. Hugo was waiting for her just out of sight, perched on the jingling chandelier overhead. Half of it was ruined, hanging down like the tendrils of some plant made of crystal. Isabelle stepped over the some smashed glass, expecting Hugo to fly ahead as her guide. Instead, the raven dropped down onto her shoulder and tugged at a lock of loose hair. She continued down the hallway, stricken by the ruin of her home.

The library was just ahead, doors lying in the hallway in splinters as if someone had hacked them apart with a fire axe. Isabelle’s heart began to pound and she coiled her whip around her arm, prepared to lash out at anything that moved. Hugo thrilled softly in her ear, pulling her hair with his beak. She hushed him and pressed her back to the wall, peeking around the threshold of the ruined doorway. She could see someone moving in the library and see a spread of weapons on Hodge’s desk.

She took a deep breath to steady her nerves and lunged around the corner. Her whip lashed through the air, cracking like part of a misplaced storm. Hodge lifted his arm, allowing the whip to wrap around his forearm and yanking it forward. Isabelle stumbled into the room from the force of Hodge’s pull, grabbing for the dagger in her boot just as Hodge reached for one of the weapons on his desk. For a moment, they both stared at each other in shock.

“Isabelle?” Hodge breathed.

“Hodge?” she gasped.

Isabelle recovered from her surprise first. She dropped her whip and ran towards her mentor so quickly that Hugo was displaced, throwing her arms around his neck. Hodge embraced her just as tightly and he smelled of blood, sweat, and corduroy.

“You’re okay,” Isabelle whispered into his blood-stained suit coat.

“I thought you were dead,” Hodge said. “Please, tell me Alec and Jace are with you.”

Isabelle nodded. “And Clarissa Morgenstern.”

“How did you get out?” Hodge asked. “Tell me everything.”

“Well, you know that ridiculous explanation Jace had about Clary and ‘the last days of her life’?” Isabelle asked him.

Hodge’s eyes widened. “You believed that nonsense? I couldn’t follow half of what he was saying to me”

She nodded, smiling. “And it was true. We were prepared and when the attack came, we got out as fast as we could. I’m so sorry we didn’t have time to get you out, too.”

“It’s alright. And you took Clarissa Morgenstern with you?”

“Yeah. We stayed in a hotel overnight.”

“Where are they now?”

“About a block away,” Isabelle explained. “Is it safe here? Or do we need to leave?”

Hodge nodded. “Yes—I killed as many of the demons as I could. When Valentine couldn’t find his daughter, he took what was remained of his forces and left.”

“Probably to search another Institute for Clary,” Isabelle said.

Hodge looked surprised but said, “Yes. Most likely.”

“Give me a moment,” Isabelle said cheerfully. “I’ll run and get the others.” She grabbed her whip more out of habit than actual need for it and rushed from the room, her boots crunching on broken glass and bits of shattered wood.

Hodge sighed heavily and watched Isabelle go as Hugo came to perch lightly on his shoulder. He bent stiffly to pick up several books that had been ripped from the shelves and put them back in proper order, smoothing down their spines. Everyone needed order in the face of such chaos as one’s home being invaded. 

Then, he moved to the window and looked out to see Isabelle rushing down the busy sidewalk with her dark hair streaming behind her like a banner. A moment later, the four teens came into view. Alec looked like a dark shadow, leading the group back to the Institute. Jace and Clary were in the middle, their hair shining like gold and rubies respectively. Isabelle was bringing up the rear, smiling broadly. Hugo cawed loudly in Hodge’s ear, startling him.

…

The library was a wreck and the rest of the Institute wasn’t much better off, but the kitchen was comfortably small and could be cleaned up quickly and easily. Five sets of hands made light work and Hugo remained perched on the back of an unbroken chair. The only problem was that most of the dishes had been smashed and the refrigerator had been pulled open and ninety-five percent of everything refrigerated or frozen had gone bad overnight. Needless to say, there wasn’t much of an option for breakfast, but teenagers could be trusted to eat nearly anything.

Isabelle opened the gallon of milk and took a sniff. “Ew, this is bad,” she said and dumped it into a trash bag that Clary was holding open. 

Clary studied a jar of jelly closely. It wasn’t broken and it didn’t smell bad. “Is this alright?” she asked and handed it to Isabelle.

“We’ll add that to the good pile,” Isabelle said and passed the jar to Alec. 

Jace reached into the back of the freezer, pulling the lid off a carton of ice cream. “This is soup and the steaks are defrosted.”

“We can eat the steaks,” Alec said, “but that ice cream is history.” 

Jace handed the melted ice cream to Clary. 

Clary slid open the bread box. “It looks like a bread made it too.”

“Bread’s not a very good weapon,” Jace told her and accepted the unharmed loaf. 

Hodge was sitting at the table with Hugo, sorting through all the groceries that were still good as Isabelle handed them to him. “Alright,” he said as he accepted the steaks. “So far, the only things that survived were the condiments, the orange juice, the steaks, some yoghurt, and a jar of jam.”

Isabelle pushed some dark hair out of her face. “So I guess we’re having steaks and yoghurt for breakfast with toast and jam.”

Jace picked up the toaster by its dangling cord and half the toaster’s guts fell out the bottom. “No toast,” he said.

Alec sighed and dumped that into the trash as well.

Isabelle took out a frying pan, set it on the stove, slapped down butter into it, and backed away. Jace slid into her place and began to fry up the steaks. Clary handed him an onion that she found rolling around on the floor. It was still in pretty good shape so Jace chopped it up.

Isabelle spread out the bread and jelly on the counter while Alec poured out several glasses of lukewarm orange juice. He took a sip, deemed it safe, and handed another glass to Clary. She accepted it gratefully and took a long drink. Isabelle pulled open several drawers in search of a knife and then sighed heavily. She pulled her dagger from her boot and began slathering the bread with jelly.

“I don’t suppose anyone knows where all the silverware went,” Isabelle muttered.

Hodge looked sheepish. “I might have used them as weapons.”

“The spoons are still here,” Alec said and stuck one into the open container of yoghurt.

Jace was having no trouble flipping the steaks because spatulas didn’t make good weapons. He smirked at his friends, amused.

Isabelle grabbed the bottle of mustard and pointed it at him. “Don’t make me use this,” she said sharply.

With breakfast pulled together, the teens scraped together some chairs and gathered around Hodge at the table. Though Hodge looked wary of giving Clary so much as a spoon to eat with, Jace handed her a dagger without sparing hardly a second glance. She thanked him and dug happily into her steak, jellied bread, and yoghurt as if it was the greatest meal she had ever tasted. It was a bit of a challenge to eat with only daggers and spoons, but everyone managed—maybe because they were so hungry and there was still a lot of cleaning left to do.

They were nearly finished with breakfast when Hodge finally voiced the question that had been devouring him from the inside out. He asked, “So, Clarissa, how did you know your father was going to attack the Institute?” 

Clary’s fingers tightened around the hilt of Jace’s borrowed dagger and her eyes snapped up, gleaming green like those of a feral cat’s.

X X X

Ooh, cliffhanger. 

And HAPPY HALLOWEEN! Halloween is my most favorite holiday ever! (I’m posted a Halloween one-shot over in Lemon Instruments if you’d like to check that out, too.) Since I can’t very well see your costumes, drop me a review!

Questions, comments, concerns?

Review for Halloween! Mwuahaha!


	15. To Fight, To Clean, To Sleep

Wow, I’ve found a little time off.

X X X

Jace closed his hand over Clary’s before she could do anything rash with that dagger. “Steady,” he said quietly. “Steady now. Hodge didn’t mean anything by that. Right, Hodge?”

Hodge’s eyes were very wide and Hugo was fluffed up on the back of his chair, looking very startled. Hodge’s pale dry hands rolled into fists around his spoon and he looked ready to brace for Clarissa Morgenstern’s attack, but Jace slid the dagger from her grasp as easily as if he was taking candy from a baby. Clary made to lean back in her chair, but the soft pressure of Jace’s hand reminded her that the back had been broken off during Valentine’s attack. Her eyes were still as cold and stony as emeralds, but she somehow looked less dangerous at Jace’s side. 

Isabelle and Alec watched cautiously, ready to spring into action if it became necessary but neither looked as if they knew exactly whose aid they would spring too. Hodge was their mentor, the man who had taken them in, but Jace was their brother and he seemed to think that it was important to protect Clary right now. Alec would certainly help his parabatai and though Isabelle loved Hodge, she would never pit herself against her brother or Jace no matter what. They were a team and they had only ever had each other.

“No,” Hodge said quietly to Clary. “I didn’t mean anything by it.”

Clary leaned her elbows on the table. “Yes, I knew Valentine was going to attack the Institute,” she said and lifted her hand so she could scrutinize the palm. For a moment, Jace thought he glimpsed a rune carved deep into her flesh, but when he looked again, it was gone. “I knew he was coming to kill me.”

“Why would he kill you?” Hodge asked. “You’re his daughter.”

Clary’s lips pulled in a painfully wry smile. “Are parents so unfailingly loyal to their children and children to their parents? Were you such a perfect child,” she slid her eyes over him like the press of a knife, “or parent, Mr. Hodge Starkweather?”

Hodge bristled, his shoulders tensing painfully with old wounds. Hugo ducked his head and cawed loudly at Clary as if in defense of his master.

Again, Jace gripped at Clary’s hand and murmured, “Hey, now, steady.”

Clary turned to smile at him, all traces of cynicism gone from her face. “I’m sorry,” she said to Jace. “I only survived because you believed me and you got me out. If my life had been left in his hands, I would be dead now.” His fingers were still folded over her bloodied wrist and she lifted his hand to her lips, pressing a soft kiss to his knuckles. “Thank you, Jace.”

Uncharacteristically, Jace—who was incredibly used to the advancements of women—abruptly blushed and pulled his hand away.

Clary smirked at him and then turned her attention back to Hodge, folding her hands neatly on the scarred table. “I knew my father was coming and I tried to warn you. Jace listened to me and I know he must have tried to tell you. He’s not the sort of person to abandon anyone. But you didn’t listen to him, did you? You have no one to blame but yourself, Hodge. Tell me, how many times has your inability to listen cost people their lives? What if you had cost Jace his life?”

Hodge jabbed his finger towards her. “You shut your mouth.”

She smirked and her teeth were bright white. “The truth is painful, isn’t it?”

Hugo lunged from the back of Hodge’s chair in a flurry of midnight wings and onyx talons, shrieking madly. Clary threw up her hands to protect her face, but it proved unnecessary. Jace was on his feet in an instant, followed swiftly by Alec and Isabelle. Jace caught Hugo’s talons in his forearm and quickly pulled the bird to his chest, pinning those flapping wings with his other arm. Alec grabbed Clary by the elbow before she could run from the room and Isabelle moved to block Hodge. It took a long moment for Hugo to calm down and fall silent in Jace’s arms. 

Only then did Isabelle speak. “I think that’s enough for one morning, don’t you?” 

…

Though Hodge wanted to lock Clary back up in the dungeon, Jace protested. “The Institute’s trashed and we need all the help we can get to clean it up,” he said and poured on the charm. “Don’t you always say that many hands make light work?”

Hodge stared at Clary, the scar on his face pulling his expression fiercely. “That saying did not include the hands of one’s enemies.”

Clary was standing behind Jace, looking very small and thin and weak, but Hodge would never forget the feral look in her eyes. Outwards appearances could be deceiving and that was something Valentine always used to his advantage. Before he came to create the Circle and lead it into the bloodiest battle, Valentine Morgenstern was just the same—narrow-wristed and narrow-hipped with pale hair and skin and eyes like charcoal. Hodge would not be deceived by looks ever again.

“Come on, Hodge,” Jace said. “I’ll keep an eye on her. It’ll be fine.”

And since there didn’t seem to be anything Hodge could so to prevent the boy, he once again just let Jace Wayland have his way.

“Thanks,” Jace said and grasped Clary’s wrist, leading her from the mostly-straightened kitchen into the hallway. Isabelle and Alec were putting the chandelier back in order, but straightened up when Jace came out with Clary, looking victorious.

“Hodge went for it?” Alec asked.

“Of course he did,” Isabelle muttered. “Jace always gets his way.”

“It’s the dashing good looks,” Jace said haughtily. 

Isabelle rolled her eyes. “Well, put your good looks to work cleaning up. This place is a disaster.”

Jace moaned as she handed him a dustpan and broom, but began to sweep up the broken glass without further complaint. Isabelle handed Clary a trash bag and watched Jace dump pan after pan of shattered glass into it. Alec managed to right the last torn strand of the chandelier just as Hodge growled his way out of the kitchen with Hugo on his shoulder. He looked like he wanted to say something bitter to Jace about keeping Clary out of the dungeon, but he swallowed his words when he saw how clean their little section of hallway was after just a few minutes.

“I’ll be straightening up the library if you need me,” he said.

“Okay,” Isabelle said and gave him a winning smile, but Hodge was not swayed by the wiles of sixteen-year-old girl. He left looking just as grumpy and Isabelle elbowed Jace sharply.

“Ow! What?”

“This is all your fault,” she muttered.

“My fault? How is this my fault?” Jace asked.

Alec’s arm passed between them. “Shut up and clean.”

Isabelle and Jace went back to sweeping and scrubbing, grumbling under their breath at each other. Clary picked up a large chunk of the doorframe and tried to press it back into place. It stayed for a moment before falling pitifully back to the floor. She picked it up again and it looked very large and jagged in her small hands. Though Jace had his back to her, completely exposed and vulnerable, she didn’t even look at him. Alec found a little trust in his heart, helped her press the chunk of wood back into place, and then sealed it with a rune until a hammer and nails could be found.

“Thank you,” Clary murmured.

“You’re welcome,” he said and reached up to straighten a wall sconce that had been knocked askew. 

She smiled faintly at him and then resumed cleaning with renewed vigor.

…

By nightfall, Hodge had half the library in order and the teenagers had managed to straighten about half the Institute, but there wasn’t much light at the end of the tunnel. Deciding to call it a day, they went upstairs only to find their rooms in just the same condition as the rest of the Institute.

Isabelle picked up the framed photograph of her parents from the floor and found that the glass had been cracked while Alec and Jace righted her toppled dresser. The mirror over her vanity table had been shattered as well, clothes had been ripped from the closet, and her bed had been overturned. A quick inspection of Jace and Alec’s rooms revealed much of the same. Surprisingly, the spare rooms hadn’t been touched at all. It was almost as if Valentine had trashed their rooms personally.

“He would have,” Clary said and they all turned to look at her. “He figured if anyone would have helped me, it would have been people my own age, like you.”

“It’s only things,” Isabelle said quietly, but she still had the photograph of her parents clutched to her chest.

“We’re all together and we’re all safe,” Jace said, pulling Isabelle to his chest for a hug. “That’s all that matters.”

Clary’s green eyes watched greedily as Jace clasped Alec into their embrace. The three of them were so close, closer than Clary had ever been with anyone, and she was seeing now that their loyalty to each other had no bounds. They would go to the ends of the earth for each other, but Clary had no one who would do that for her. Jace wondered if she had any friends at all.

“We can use some spare rooms tonight,” Alec said coolly. “Tomorrow, we can focus on getting our rooms back in order.” He gently pried the broken frame from Isabelle’s grasp and brushed some of her dark hair out of her face. “Izz?”

“I’m fine,” she said softly. “Really, I am.”

“Jace?” Alec asked.

Jace gave his friend a thumbs-up.

Alec turned to face Clary, but didn’t speak her name and she wasn’t sure if he was checking to see how she was doing or just making sure she hadn’t run away. Either way, she didn’t respond to his glance and turned away to study a slashed canvas that hung half-in and half-out of its frame.

“Jace, what do you want to do with Clary tonight?” Alec said suddenly.

Clary’s shoulders tensed, but she forced herself not to turn around to face them. She remained still, studying the ruined painting, barely breathing.

Jace, to his credit, actually took a moment to think. He couldn’t help but remember his conversation with Clary the night before while they were in the hotel. She had been locked up for a long time, possibly even by her own father even if she didn’t admit anything. But he knew it wasn’t safe to bring Morgenstern’s daughter back to his room with him like nothing was wrong. She could kill him while he slept or escape and Jace couldn’t afford to stay awake all night. He needed some sleep, but he really didn’t want to send Clary back to the dungeon.

“Jace?” Alec asked.

“I don’t want to send her to the dungeon, but I’m not an idiot,” he said. “Any ideas?” 

Isabelle took a moment to think and then snapped her fingers. “Cuffs,” she said. “You could tie her to the bed.”

The blood drained out of Clary’s face, her freckles standing out like spots of blood. Images of Shawn Darklight filled Jace’s heart like poison. He couldn’t even imagine what Clary must be thinking right now. Did she fear being raped again? Being raped by him, the one person she thought she could give a little trust to?

Jace made a harsh sound in his throat. “What?”

“Isabelle,” Alec said nervously. “Where on earth did you get an idea like that?”

She slid him a cheeky look and said, “I’m sixteen, Alec. I know some stuff.”

Alec put his hands over his ears. “Stop! There are some things no brother wants to know about his sister.”

Jace chuckled and though he hated to admit it, simply tying Clary up was a good idea. He turned to her and said, “Well, it’s your choice really. Do you want to go to the dungeon or get tied to a bed so I can get some sleep?”

Clary rolled her shoulders, noncommittal. Neither of those sounded particularly appetizing, but she knew if she went to the dungeon, Hodge would come down to see her and that was a confrontation she wanted to put off for as long as possible. “I’d rather stay with you,” she said finally.

Jace flashed her an easy little smile. “Do you have cuffs, Izzy?”

“Let me just grab them out of my nightstand,” she said.

Alec shrieked like a little girl, turned away, and made his way quickly down the hallway.

Isabelle grinned broadly. “Just kidding!”

If Alec heard her, he didn’t stop and disappeared quickly around the corner. Jace burst out laughing, highly amused by his friend’s plight. Isabelle went to the armory down the hall and retrieved a pair of leather cuffs and a long strap.

“Leather?” Jace teased her.

Isabelle simply slipped him a flirtatious smile and headed down the hall after her brother. 

Jace led Clary down the hallway to where the Institute had rooms with double beds. He opened several doors before finding the correct room and ushering Clary inside. He dropped the cuffs on the nightstand and started opening drawers in search of clothes. All the drawers were empty and he cursed quietly. 

“Guess we’ll have to sleep in the nude,” he said jokingly.

Clary’s eyes were hard and she didn’t even quirk a smile. “I would not look forward to being tied up naked with a man I hardly know.”

“Ouch,” Jace said and closed the drawer softly. 

He studied her for a moment, remembering how she had looked in the dungeon with her pale skin bruised and her inner thighs streaked with blood. He heard her little cries when Shawn Darklight had violated her with the hilt of a dagger right in front of him. Above all, he thought of Isabelle, but then his thoughts smoothed easily to Clary. He didn’t want to see her hurt anymore than he would allow Isabelle to be hurt though it still wouldn’t have been much of a choice if he had to choose one or the other to rescue.

“Hey,” Jace said gently. “I’m not going to hurt you. You can still go back to the dungeon if you want.”

Clary snorted. “Some choice.”

Jace glanced at the cuffs. “You understand, right? Why I can’t just let you run loose?”

Clary sighed heavily. “I can understand, but it doesn’t make me like it any more.”

Jace sensed that he couldn’t win this conversation and plucked nervously at his t-shirt. The material stuck to his stomach with sweat and grime and he winced. “I’m going to go to my room and grab some clean clothes for us. There has to be something there that didn’t get trashed,” he said. “Come with me.”

Clary trailed after him, silent.

It took Jace a small moment to pick through the ruins of his room to find something remotely clean. Finally, he found some jeans and t-shirts that had avoided the carnage along with some pajama bottoms that had been safely kicked under the bed until laundry day. Everything was covered in Church’s blue hair.

“This will have to do,” he said to Clary as he handed her a pair of jeans and a t-shirt. “We can do laundry tomorrow.”

“Thanks,” she said. “Mind if I shower first?”

Jace peeked into the bathroom and then drew a rune on the window to prevent escape. “Go ahead.”

She didn’t look at him as she walked by and she slammed the door behind her.

Jace sank down on the neatly-made bed and rubbed his face tiredly. He understood why Clary was so upset. He thought they had been doing so well, maybe even becoming friends—well, as close to friends as Jace could be with the daughter of the man who had butchered his parents. He had saved her life and she had saved his. But now Jace was stuck between a rock and hard place. There was no good choice under these circumstances. Either go to the dungeon or get tied to a bed. And then he had to go and make such a tasteless comment so soon after Clary had been raped by another Shadowhunter.

Jace pinched the bridge of his nose. “How can I be so stupid?” he muttered. 

The bathroom door swung open in a waft of steam and Clary stepped out. She dumped her dirty clothes in a heap in front of the empty dresser and ran her fingers through her hair. Jace’s jeans were hanging off her hips and the t-shirt was practically a dress on her. “Okay, you can put the rune on the door out here now so I can’t escape while you’re in the shower.”

Jace stood from the bed. “Listen, Clary, I’m—”

She held up her hand. “Save it,” she said. “I won’t shower with you.”

Jace nearly choked. “What?”

She slid him a grin and flopped down on the second bed, keeping her back to him. Jace sighed heavily, drew the rune on the door and windows, and then ducked into the bathroom. The warm water was bliss on his tight muscles. He wanted to stand under the water for eternity, but he knew Clary was sitting in the other room. He needed to talk to her, to try to resolve this before it got too far out of hand and he lost what little bit of her trust he had gained. He got out, dried off, dressed quickly, and stepped out of the bathroom. 

Clary was still lying on the bed, her face peaceful if not a little pale. 

“Can we talk?” Jace asked her. “About this?”

“I forgive you,” she said automatically. “And I’m sorry for overreacting. I know you don’t have a choice.”

“I really don’t,” he said. “I can’t have you killing me in my sleep.”

Clary smiled thinly. “I am Valentine Morgenstern’s daughter. You never know what I might do.”

Jace glanced at her. “Clary, will you tell me the truth?”

“Probably not,” she said honestly.

He sighed heavily. “Fine, never mind.” 

He picked the leather manacles up off the nightstand and bound Clary’s wrists together. He tried not to think about the way her cold hands trembled or what Shawn Darklight had done to her. Then, he attached the leather strap and bound it securely to the headboard. He tried not to think about how easy it was and why the Institute had leather cuffs anyway. Then, he shut off the lights and crawled into the other bed. Pale moonlight filtered in through the window, lying soft across Clary’s body like a veil. Her hair glistened like rubies, pretty despite belonging to a Morgenstern.

“Goodnight, Clary,” Jace murmured.

“Goodnight, Jace,” she said and her voice was very soft.

X X X

Questions, comments, concerns? 


	16. A Dream, A Nightmare

Man, the feedback for this story had dropped painfully. I might have to cut it back to one update a week…

X X X

Jace woke sharply, immediately groping under his pillow for the dagger he had hidden there. The moon was hanging outside the window like a thin crescent smile and he must not have been asleep for very long. The New York streets were busy and noisy at all hours of the night and day and those same sounds were still buzzing like white noise outside. For a moment, Jace had no idea what had woken him from a sound sleep when he was so tired. 

Then, the sound came again, unnatural in the New York night. Someone was crying quietly and even though the sounds were muffled, Jace recognized them as the deep heart-wrenching sobs of loss and agony. For a moment, he almost rolled over and went back to sleep, but he couldn’t just ignore a sound like that. He pulled back the covers and slid out of bed, bare feet silent on the floor. Clary was lying in the bed beside his, her back like a fortress beneath the blankets, but nothing could disguise the way her entire body trembled.

He sat down on the edge of the bed and gently laid his hand on her shoulder. “Clary,” he said softly.

She froze beneath his hand, trying to choke off her sobbing, but to no avail.

Jace hushed her softly and gathered her into a sitting position. For a moment, she struggled against him, but once he managed to press her to his chest in his warm embrace, all the fight went out of her. Her body felt so small and fragile in his arms, all bones and sharp angles. She crumpled against his chest, sobbing her heart out and trembling as if she was going to break apart at the seams. Jace leaned back against the headboard, cradling her close. He hushed her, stroking her red tresses.

“What is it?” he whispered into her. “What’s wrong?”

“I dream about it,” she gasped out between sobs. “I always dream about it.”

“What?” Jace breathed.

“Him coming home… stinking with blood and sweat, smelling like demons and Forsaken… and then he’d hug me and I thought for certain I would die…” She shuddered in Jace’s arms, her fingers tightening convulsively against his shirt. “His hands… touching me, hurting me, carving it into me…”

Her palm burned against Jace’s chest, just as it had in his nightmare so long ago. He nearly pushed her away, fear tightening like a fist in his gut, but she clutched him tighter and whimpered so softly that he barely heard it.

“He must have raped my mother,” she whispered into Jace’s chest. “How else could she have ever been with a man like him? How could she? How could you… Mommy?” Her voice was small and thin as paper, trembling as she spoke. “Please,” she gasped quietly. “Don’t let me dream anymore. I don’t want this dream…”

Jace stroked her hair. “Shh, it’s a nightmare,” he murmured. “Clary, it’s alright.”

She tensed in his arms, her manacles clinking quietly as she flexed her palms flat against his chest. For a moment Jace feared she would strike him with the power in her hand, but he still didn’t push her away. He held her gently, rubbing her back as she slowly came back to her senses.

“Jace,” she whispered and there was fear in her voice. “W-what was I saying?”

“You were telling me about your nightmare,” he murmured. “It’s alright.”

She was warm and limp in his arms, too exhausted to fight back from crying, but he could feel her heart pounding like a war drum in her chest. “No,” she whispered. “No, no one can know. I wasn’t supposed to say anything.”

“It’s okay,” Jace whispered. “You can trust me.”

“I can’t,” she gasped. “No.”

“Clary,” Jace murmured, smoothing back her hair. “Tell me the truth. Did you run away from Valentine?”

Her eyes glowed in the dark. “Will you believe me?” she breathed.

Jace nodded, his throat tightening. She looked so vulnerable in his arms, shivering and shackled and peppered with bruises.

She closed her eyes and a single tear slipped down her cheek. “Yes,” she breathed against Jace’s chest. “Yes. I ran away.”

“Why?” he asked softly, not certain if she’d tell him, but it was worth a shot.

Another tear slid down her cheek, soaking warmly into his shirt. “Because… I had to… I couldn’t stay… He was going to kill me… I had to run away, but those Shadowhunters caught me and—”

Jace hushed her, rubbing her back. “It’s alright,” he murmured. “It’s alright.”

Clary burrowed silently into his chest, her tears soaking into the fabric of his shirt. Jace wasn’t certain how long he sat against the headboard holding her like that, but she was so warm and hurt in his arms that he just couldn’t bear to let her go. Sometime after the moon sank out of sight, he tucked her beneath the covers and unhooked her fingers from his shirt to crawl into his own bed and get some much-needed sleep for himself.

…

Jace was loathe to wake Clary the next morning when she was obviously so tired and finally getting her first deep sleep in weeks, but he was going stir-crazy in the empty room. If he didn’t find something to do and soon, he was going to start licking the wallpaper like a crazy person. 

He paced from the window to the door, paused to look at Clary sleeping peacefully, and then paced several more times. Finally, he lost his cool. He wrapped her up in the blanket, tucked a pillow under her head, unshackled her wrists, and gathered her up in his arms. For a moment, he stood cautiously, looking down at the pale crescent of her face to see if moving her was going to wake her, but she continued to sleep as peacefully as a baby. Well, she could keep sleeping for as long as she wanted, but he was not going to stay in this room any longer.

When he came into the kitchen with Clary bundled up like an Eskimo in his arms, Isabelle lifted her brow and Alec stared at him long enough to overflow the mug of coffee he was pouring. With a curse, Alec quickly started slapping paper towels down on the mess while Jace propped Clary into a chair as comfortably as he could manage. She stirred, moaning softly, but didn’t wake even when Church waltzed into the room and jumped up onto her. The blue Persian snuggled into the cocoon contentedly.

“Jace,” Isabelle said. “I’m only going to ask this once—why?”

Jace sat down across from her and Alec handed him a sopping mug of coffee. He shot his friend a savage look and took a sip of the coffee while it was still bitter and black so he could have some space to add sugar. “Well,” he said to Isabelle. “She was still sleeping and I couldn’t be in that room anymore. I was going crazy!”

Isabelle looked at him in a way that suggested he already had lost all his marbles, but didn’t say anything. She sipped her coffee silently as Alec slid into the chair on her other side. 

“So,” Alec said, being very careful not to look and Clary and Church sleeping peacefully in the chair across from him. “I was thinking we’d spend this morning putting our rooms back in order and cleaning up all that. If we have any time left, we’ll clean up the foyer.”

Jace nodded in agreement, stirring his coffee with his finger. 

“How’s Hodge doing with the library?” Isabelle asked.

“I checked on him this morning when I got up,” Alec said. “He’s getting there, but I don’t think he’s going to let us help him. You know how he likes his library in perfect order.”

“Yeah,” Jace muttered, “A perfect order only he can understand.”

“But he knows where everything is and that’s all that matters,” Isabelle said. She finished off her coffee and set the mug in the sink with the few other dishes that had survived the attack. “Well, let’s get moving. I don’t know about you two, but I didn’t sleep very well last night.”

Jace slid Alec a look. “I slept very well without someone snoring in my ear and hogging all the covers.”

Alec looked away innocently.

Isabelle patted Jace on the shoulder. “I wouldn’t go around telling too many people that you shared a bed with my brother,” she said slyly. “You might get a whole new reputation.”

Then, it was Jace’s turn to flush and look away.

“Okay,” Isabelle said, cheerily ignoring Jace and Alec’s reactions. “Let’s get this show on the road. Jace, you grab your, err…” she paused, eying Clary and Church in their sleepy little cocoon on the kitchen chair. “Grab Clary,” she settled on. “And Alec, you grab the door.”

Together, the trio made their way upstairs to their ruined bedrooms. They started in Isabelle’s room. Jace settled Clary and Church into Isabelle’s round rattan chair after she spent a minute picking up all the strewn pillows. Jace and Alec righted her bed and she remade it with fresh sheets while they swept up the remains of her shattered mirror. They helped her pick up some clothes, but most of her wardrobe had been slashed to ribbons. 

“Add that to the list of things that need to be replaced,” Isabelle muttered, throwing aside her favorite dress in disgust and frustration. 

Jace pretended to fashion a pen out of the air and began to jot on his hand. “Okay, so we need new dishes, new food for the fridge, new clothes, new light bulbs, and a new Isabelle,” he said before turning to Alec and asking, “Do you think there’s a return policy for girls?”

Isabelle punched him in the arm and he yelped, but he knew he had accomplished what he wanted when he saw the smile on her lips. 

“Next up,” Alec said and grasped one side of the rattan chair where Clary was still sleeping. Jace picked up the other side and the two of them carried the whole chair into Alec’s bedroom with them. Isabelle took a moment to vacuum her room now that everyone was out of it before joining them.

Jace and Alec made quick work of fixing his furniture. Valentine hadn’t spent as much time demolishing Alec’s room as he had Isabelle’s and she didn’t know whether to be happy for her brother or just more frustrated and pissed off. Jace clasped his hand on her shoulder and gave her a little smile. She returned it and sighed heavily as she folded several of Alec’s strewn shirts into a neat pile.

“How come all your boring clothes survived?” she muttered.

Alec ruffled her hair softly as he righted the trunk at the foot of his bed, stuffing spare blankets back into it as he did so. The hinged lid had been broken open and the screws rolled lamely across the floor, jingling quietly. “At least all your furniture made it,” he said.

“My mirror died a painful death,” Isabelle reminded him.

“True,” Alec agreed.

“Next,” Jace said. 

He began dragging the chair Clary slumbered in out of the room. The chair made a horrible sound on the floorboards so Alec came to help him and the two of them carried it down the hall to Jace’s room. Clary mumbled in her sleep and began to stretch and stir as they turned the corner. Just as Isabelle opened Jace’s bedroom door, Clary woke with a small gasp and sat up sharply enough to wake Church. The blue Persian meowed irritably and gave a great yawn.

“Good morning,” Jace said, leaning over the back of the chair to peer into her face. 

Their faces were so close that his golden hair tickled the sides of her cheeks and she could smell his sweet coffee-scented breath. She was suddenly painfully aware of the sour taste in her own mouth and the way her blood-red hair was flipped all over her head.

For a moment, she stared at him, stricken, and clutched the covers to her chest. “What are you doing?” she squeaked out.

Jace only grinned. “Well, we are cleaning and you are sleeping.”

“Jace,” Isabelle said sternly and pushed him back a few steps. “No one wants anyone in their face as soon as they wake up. Why don’t you two get started on the furniture? I’ll take Clary to brush her teeth and get her some coffee.”

Jace froze, his smile cracking like a plate. Though Clary had saved his life and warned him in her own way that an attack was coming, she was still Valentine Morgenstern’s daughter. He wasn’t sure he trusted her alone with Isabelle. Hell, he hardly trusted her alone with him and knowing what that hand of hers could do to a Forsaken only made him more nervous. What if she attacked Isabelle?

Alec looked as if he felt just the same, his blue eyes wide and pale as chips of too-thin ice.

Isabelle stared at them for a moment and there was both understanding and trust in her expression. She knew what they were thinking and she would be careful. 

But Isabelle was Alec’s only family and he wasn’t about to leave anything up to chance. His hand lashed out as quick as a viper striking and snared around Clary’s upper arm. She made a little sound of pain as he jerked her around to face him. “If you hurt my sister,” he growled, “I will kill you.”

“Alec,” Isabelle said quietly.

Clary’s green eyes were wide and for a heartbeat, her mouth was very hard. She looked as if she was going to counter his threat with a promise of her own, but then, her face softened. She closed her eyes for a moment and then opened them again. The green in her gaze was very bright and sad. “I won’t hurt her,” she said and her voice was heavy with truth, “I promise you.”

Alec’s grip loosened with shock and he stared at her.

Isabelle slid between them, gently putting her hand on Clary’s elbow. She didn’t say anything to either of them as she led Clary down the hallway with Church at their heels. There didn’t seem to be any words that could be spoken in that moment anyway.

X X X

Questions, comments, concerns?

Show some love so I know people are you there on this planet with me.


	17. Instaurations

I always feel bad for threatening my story to get reviews, but it seems to be the only thing that works…

X X X

“Sorry there’s no milk,” Isabelle said as she watched Clary take a sip of over-sweetened coffee. “The fridge got left open in the attack and everything spoiled. A lot of our dishes were smashed too.”

She gazed at Clary, pressing her lips together to keep from smiling. The girl was positively swimming in Jace’s jeans and t-shirt. Though Isabelle had seen plenty of girls wearing Jace’s clothes and she had worn one of Alec’s shirts herself a time or two, she had never seen anyone look so ridiculous in someone else’s clothing. 

Clary glanced up at her over the rim of her mug. “What?”

“Nothing,” Isabelle said, but her little half-hidden smile betrayed her. “I wish I had some clothes to lend you, but most of mind were slashed in the attack.”

Clary finished off her coffee in a scalding swallow, wincing at the burn. “My father is like that,” she said bitterly. “When he can’t take what he wants, he makes everyone nearby suffer greatly for it. I remember once—” She cut herself off sharply, covering whatever she was going to say with a cough.

“You can trust us, you know,” Isabelle said to Clary kindly.

“Can I?” the girl said coolly.

“You can,” Isabelle said as she put fresh coffee into the filter and started brewing a new pot. “I know Jace and Alec are both a little rough around the edges—okay, they’re downright jagged around the edges—but they’ve been through hell and they’re good at heart.”

“Jace told me about his parents, about how Valentine butchered them,” Clary murmured, “and then tried to kill him too.”

Isabelle didn’t know what to say, uncertain if she should say anything at all.

“He hates me,” Clary said suddenly.

Isabelle looked up from the coffee maker to see Clary turn away, eyes glittering. “He doesn’t,” Isabelle said before she could stop herself. “He doesn’t hate you. It was so cute this morning. He carried you down into the kitchen because he wanted to let you sleep, but he couldn’t leave you alone.”

Clary glanced over her shoulder at Isabelle and her eyes were like stone. “He’s hoping I’ll tell him something about Valentine, just like everyone else is—just like you are.”

“We are,” Isabelle said honestly because she knew Clary wouldn’t believe anything otherwise. “But we can still be kind. Do you hate Valentine, Clary?”

“He’s my father,” was all she said, but it looked as if the words hurt her.

Isabelle let it go, instead saying, “Well, Jace was distant when he first came here too, but he warmed up after a while. Maybe you will too. You’ll find that life is easier with friends.”

Clary didn’t agree or deny that statement. She merely hitched Jace’s borrowed jeans a little higher up on her hips and flipped down long blood-red hair back over her shoulder. Then, she said, “Well, we should get cleaning, shouldn’t we?”

…

Jace’s room looked worse than Isabelle’s and that was saying something. His mattress had been slashed, stuffing spilling out like blood and guts, and his pillows weren’t much better off. All the clothes had been dumped out of his dresser and the whole thing had been overturned harshly. His nightstand was cracked down one side, the brass reading lamp was bent at an unnatural angle, and the few knickknacks that Isabelle had given him were smashed beyond repair. 

“Valentine knows I’m here,” Jace said, fingering a strip of ragged cloth that had been torn from his sheets. “He’s sending me a message.”

“Don’t be silly, Jace,” Alec said. “I’m sure Valentine thinks you’re dead.”

Jace pressed his fingers to his throat. “He knows I’m alive. He left me alive for a reason.”

Alec gripped his shoulder and turned his friend to face him. “Jace, you know this is irrational,” he said gently. “Valentine probably trashed your room first while he was angriest and did the most damage here. Then, he must have gone into Isabelle’s room and seen all her pretty clothing and gotten jealous because he doesn’t have the charm to get laid in a women’s prison.”

Jace’s lips pulled in a thin little smile.

“By the time he got to my room, he was beat like an old rug,” Alec continued. “Okay? Now, what’s more likely? That Valentine tried to slit your throat in the hopes that you’d survive so he could trash your room in the future? Or what I just said?”

“There’s no question,” Jace said. “You’re right.”

Alec smiled and tried to lighten the heavy conversation by saying, “It happens occasionally.”

“Yeah, even a broken clock is right twice a day,” Jace said and ducked beneath the blow aimed for the back of his head. “I’m sorry, you’re right. Now, help me schlep this mattress into the garbage and bring in one from the spare room that hasn’t been turned into confetti.”

Together, they heaved the ruined mattress out of Jace’s room and lugged it down the hallway. It bumped noisily down the stairs, causing such a commotion that Hodge peeked out of the library to see what they were doing. When a mattress passed by, he sucked himself back in and closed the door tightly. Jace and Alec dumped the mattress in the foyer with all the other furniture and dishes that hadn’t survived the attack. Then, they fetched a new mattress from a spare room and were dragging it back through the door when Isabelle and Clary rejoined them.

“Yikes,” Isabelle said. “Your room looks worse than mine.”

Alec shot her a harsh look, but Jace didn’t seem to mind the reminder that his room had suffered the worst. 

“Why don’t you make yourself useful, Isabelle,” Jace said instead, “and put some new sheets on that mattress? Thanks.”

She sighed heavily and began righting things left and right as she made her way to the bed. Clary followed after her, picking up clothing and tossing aside what was ruined while folding what had survived over her arm. Isabelle dug a pillow out from behind the nightstand and sneezed in the snowstorm of feathers that puffed from it. Jace looked sad for a moment before he and Alec started sweeping up all the rubble that littered the floor. It didn’t take long for the four of them to put Jace’s room back in order.

“Okay,” Jace said, brushing his hands off on his jeans. “I say we divide and conquer because we have a lot to do and I’m getting really tired of cold dry cereal really fast.”

Isabelle nodded. “I’ll take care of the laundry and try to make a list of what we need to shop for. Then, we can go shopping tomorrow.”

“I’ll go the hardware store and pick up some things to start repairing the Institute,” Alec offered.

“Get some new dishes while you’re out,” Isabelle said. “We can’t keep living just on spoons, five plates, and four coffee mugs.”

He nodded, studying the hole that had been punched in Jace’s wall. “I’ll get some spackle, too. Toothpaste isn’t going to fix that.”

“I’ll take Clary and go grocery shopping,” Jace volunteered.

Isabelle nodded. “That’s a good idea, but try not to attract too much attention with the way you’re dressed.”

“So we’ll go to Wal-Mart,” Jace said.

Isabelle snorted.

…

It was nice to have the Institute back in nearly-livable condition. It would take a few more days to fix everything, but now that Isabelle had done laundry and they all had some clean clothes, it was suddenly very bearable—or maybe they were just too exhausted to really care. As it was, Alec was nodding off over his soup and Jace wasn’t too far behind him. Isabelle was too proper to fall asleep over soup and Clary had slept later than any of them and was still quite alert. Hodge was watching Clary warily, picking at his meal and feeding bits of it to Hugo.

“Nice plates, Alec,” Isabelle said and scratched at the pattern with her fingernail. It was of a prickly orange bird of paradise with a stem that ended in the middle of the empty whiteness hunkered along the side of the dishes like a toad or an unpleasant splash of spoiled spaghetti sauce.

“If you don’t like it, you go pick out the plates next time the Institute gets invaded and demolished,” Alec muttered. “This was all they had in a complete set.”

Hodge adjusted the bowl before him and studied it. “Now, children,” he said placatingly, but didn’t have much else to say. It really was an ugly pattern and it was only made worse by the fact that they now had mugs to match.

“Well,” Jace said to turn the conversation away from the dishes and fought off a yawn. “Clary, you have the same decision as you did last night.”

She was indifferent to the plates and took a sip of milk before answering. “My choice is the same.”

Jace grinned cheekily at her, but she turned up her nose before he could make a smart comment.

Hodge fed Hugo a hunk of chicken. “The Silent Brothers will be here tomorrow to finish what they started,” he said plainly.

Clary’s knuckles whitened around her spoon.

Jace interrupted smoothly, “But not to torture her, right? You told them what she did for us, didn’t you?”

“I did,” Hodge admitted. “They wish to speak with her only,” he mumbled into his soup, “which I do not agree with.”

Jace pretended not to hear that and turned to Clary. “See? Everything’s going to work out alright.”

Her green eyes sparkled like jewels, precious and hard. “Sure,” she said coolly.

“Well,” Isabelle said. “Not that this isn’t a totally cheerful conversation, but I think I’m going to turn in for the night. I’m beat and I need a shower.”

Jace opened his mouth to comment and Alec shoved a spoonful of soup into it before agreeing with Isabelle and rising from the table while Jace was busy choking. Hodge offered to do the dishes since they had worked so hard cleaning up the Institute. Clary put their bowls into the sink and filled them with water to soak. She could feel Hodge’s eyes burning into her back, but she bid him a pleasant ‘goodnight’ and followed Jace from the kitchen. The door swung shut quietly at her back.

…

Jace and Clary went through much of the same routine they had gone through the night before though will a little more understanding and trust. They only came to a real problem when Jace was getting ready to go to bed. The spare room they had stayed in the night before had double beds, but Jace wasn’t accustomed to sharing his room with anyone. They stood together at the foot of the bed, staring at the sheets and pillows.

“Are you going to throttle me in my sleep?” Jace asked Clary half-joking and half-serious.

“Only if you try to molest me,” she said and her voice was dead-serious. 

Jace swallowed, his throat suddenly dry and tight.

Clary offered him her battered wrists and let him bind them tightly with the leather cuffs. When his fingers grazed her skin, she spoke as if the words were being pried from her by his touch, “I’m not going to hurt you, Jace.”

“Why?” he couldn’t help but ask.

“Because you’ve been kind to me,” she murmured. 

“You saved my ass from that Forsaken,” he said. “I think that makes us square.”

Clary didn’t respond, following Jace quietly as he attached the leather strap of her cuffs to the headboard.

“What is that power in your hand anyway? Will you tell me?”

“I can’t,” she said and sat down on the bed, drawing her legs up beneath the covers. 

“Could you kill me with it?” Jace asked her as he circled to his side of the bed.

She nodded. “Yes, I could, but I won’t.”

“Because I’m so handsome?” he said cheerfully.

Her lips twitched with a small smile. “I suppose that’s part of the reason.”

Jace switched off his bedside lamp (Alec had bought him a new one at the hardware store earlier that day and luckily it was far less ugly than the plates he had picked out.) and crawled into bed. The mattress cradled his back and aching muscles, soaking the lingering tension from him even as he realized that he could feel the heat of Clary’s body through the blankets. He was sharing his bed with Valentine Morgenstern’s daughter, he realized with a jolt, but her breath was light in the darkness, soft like a child’s, and it suddenly didn’t seem like such a bad thing. 

It took a moment for Jace’s eyes to adjust to the darkness of the pale moonlight filtering in through the window, but then he studied her. She was lying with her back to him and it was a fortress of bone that pressed out against the clean t-shirt he had lent her. Her ruby-red hair was spread across the white pillow like rivulets of fresh blood and her skin was very pale and thin so that he could see the map of veins beneath. She was freshly-showered and she smelled nice. She really was pretty, Jace admitted to himself grudgingly, even if she was Morgenstern’s daughter.

He closed his eyes and tried focus on how tired he was, on the weight of the blankets, on the press of the mattress, of the coolness of the night flowing in through his open window… but all he could feel was the heat of Clary’s body beside him and the sound of her light breath. It was nice to have someone to share his bed with. The nights were long and lonely when one couldn’t sleep which happened to Jace with more and more frequency. But he listened to the sound of her even breathing and found his eyes growing heavy.

“Goodnight, Clary,” he murmured sleepily.

“Goodnight, Jace,” she whispered.

X X X

Questions, comments, concerns? 


	18. The Calm Before

I’ve been playing Kingdom Hearts like a fiend these last few days.

X X X

There was a loud knocking on Jace’s bedroom door the next morning at an hour too early to be anything good. Clary sat up sharply, pulling the blankets to her chest. Her eyes were very wide, but they narrowed as Jace rolled out of bed and padded over to open his door. Hodge was standing on the other side of it with Hugo on his shoulder. When he saw that Clary had been sharing Jace’s bed, he abruptly went pale and pointed a shaking finger into Jace’s chest.

“You’re sleeping with her, Jace Wayland?” Hodge half-shouted. “You’re sleeping with the daughter of the man who killed your parents?”

Jace had the decency to flush at the idea before quickly protesting. “Not really,” he said to Hodge in as even a voice as he could manage. “I just didn’t want to send her back to the dungeons yet. I cuffed her. She wasn’t going to hurt me.”

“I suppose she told you that, did she?” Hodge hissed.

The quick glance Jace shot at Clary gave him away.

Hodge laughed humorlessly. “Yes, her family is so trustworthy that I can’t see any reason for you not to trust her immediately,” he said bitterly. He pushed Jace aside and came into the room, grabbing the leather strap attached to Clary’s cuffs and yanking her out of Jace’s bed.

She crashed to the floor, legs tangled in the blankets and unable to brace her fall with her hands, and cried out softly when her shoulder connected with Jace’s desk. It made a sad painful sound in the silence that spread between the three of them.

“Be careful!” Jace said to Hodge before he could stop himself.

“You’re too kind, Jace,” Hodge told the youth, but not hurtfully. “You’ve always been too kind.” He pulled Clary harshly to her feet and studied Jace for a moment. “Valentine Morgenstern murdered your parents and tried to kill you, too. This is his daughter, his right hand.”

Jace was staring at the floor, unwilling to look up and meet Hodge’s eyes. 

“I’m sure Valentine allowed her to be captured and taken to the Institute for a reason, Jace, even if we don’t know it yet,” Hodge continued. “He probably doesn’t know you survived the attack all those years ago and it’s only mere chance that brought her to you, but she’s here for a reason—for Valentine’s reason.”

Clary was crumpled at Hodge’s feet, looking small and thin. Her red hair was tangled in a halo around her head with sleep and there were shadows beneath her green eyes. She didn’t speak, neither to defend herself nor agree nor even to attack Hodge verbally again.

“How do you know for certain?” Jace said weakly. “She might be an innocent.”

Hodge shook his head. “No, Jace. Don’t think like that. Valentine has turned many good Shadowhunters to his cause and it would be an easy matter for him to mold his daughter into his likeness,” he said. “She’s Valentine’s daughter, nothing more and certainly nothing less.” He pulled Clary to her feet by the manacles, gripped her upper arm, and dragged her wordlessly from Jace’s room. The door swung shut at his back with the soft creak of un-oiled hinges.

Jace stood silently in the middle of the room for what felt like a very long time.

…

Jace found it hard to focus on anything after that. He stayed in his bedroom, opening the door only to let Church in since the Silent Brothers had returned. His mind was filled with countless contradictory thoughts and images that threatened to make him go insane.

He knew Clary was Valentine Morgenstern’s daughter. He knew that! She had attacked him brutally with whatever strange power she had in her hand and taken advantage of his injuries. She had tried to escape after Magnus Bane healed her. She had verbally attacked Hodge, her words ripping into Jace’s beloved mentor like daggers. She had known about Valentine’s attack and warned Jace to save her own life. She had that block in her mind, so powerful that even the Silent Brothers couldn’t penetrate it, so she had to know something. She had everything counting against her.

And yet… 

She still seemed like such a fragile young girl. She had been raped, brutally beaten, tortured, starved, and locked in the darkness of the dungeon for weeks and yet… She had protected Jace from Shawn Darklight and saved him from a Forsaken. She had done what she could to warn Jace of Valentine’s attack even if she had done to it save herself. She had told him that she knew nothing of Valentine and that she had to escape him or else be killed. She woke in the middle of the night with terrible nightmares that reminded Jace of himself and she had been so broken in Jace’s arms.

He knew he should believe what Hodge told him. She was Valentine Morgenstern’s daughter. She was only plying for pity and knowledge. She was here in the Institute for some other reason, some dark reason of Valentine’s. She shouldn’t be trusted, pitied, or aided in any way. 

Even so, Jace couldn’t help but feel in his heart that she was innocent. She was so thin and he couldn’t forget the way her small body had felt in his arms when she had woken from her nightmare. Her tears and fear had felt real. The words she had whispered felt like the truth. 

He didn’t know what to believe anymore.

Jace ran a hand through his hair, letting out a hard sigh, and sat down heavily on his bed beside Church. The blue Persian was snuggled into the empty place on the bed where Clary had slept the night before, purring contentedly as Jace stroked him. The cat had certainly taking a liking to Clary and even seemed a little sad now that she was back in the dungeon. Church had spent a lot of time trailing after Clary as they cleaned the Institute and Clary always took the time to give him a little attention.

Jace thought again about how Clary had been unwilling to tell Jace about her pets for fear that her love for them would be used against her. That wasn’t something most normal teens would think about, even Shadowhunters, but it had been the first thought in Clary’s mind… as if it had happened to her before.

Everything was blurred together in mingled shades of grey, no longer a clear distinction of black or white. 

Jace would go to see her in the dungeon tonight and try to get a straight answer out of her, even if it took him hours. He had to know if she was working for Valentine and was a true traitor or was just an innocent who had been born to the wrong parents. 

If he didn’t find out for certain, he was going to go insane and then Alec and Isabelle would have to figure out what to do with him.

…

Isabelle had made up a plate of spaghetti and meatballs for Clary and Jace retrieved it from the fridge before he went to the basement to see Clary that night. He brought her a soda, some water, and an apple as well. The dungeon was dark and cool and cleaner than it had ever been. (They had cleaned it from top to bottom while they were repairing the rest of the Institute after Valentine’s attack. A few burnt-out light bulbs had been replaced while they were at it.) Jace turned on some lights as he went and found that Clary had been moved to another cell. 

She was sitting with her back against the wall, her legs pulled against her chest and her arms resting on her bent knees. She was resting her chin on her folded arms, her face smooth and emotionless beneath the bright fluorescent glare. She was still wearing Jace’s borrowed clothes, there was a fresh bruise on her face, and one wrist was shackled to the wall, but she looked alright.

Jace pulled his Stele from his pocket and drew a rune on the door, swinging it open soundlessly. 

“Hello, Jace,” she said smoothly. “What did you bring me?”

“Death on a plate,” he said and handed her the dish of food.

She stared at it, her green eyes bright. Jace sighed, took the fork from her, twirled some spaghetti into a knot, popped it into his mouth, and then handed it back. She dug in eagerly after she was certain the food wasn’t poisoned or spiked. Jace cracked open the soda, took a sip, and handed that to her as well. It was strange that they could return to old mistrustful ways so quickly. Jace had thought they were beginning to connect, to form a little tendril of binding trust, but apparently he was wrong. Clary didn’t appear to trust him as far as she could throw him.

“Clary, will you tell me the truth?” Jace asked.

“Haven’t we gone over this? Probably not.”

“I’m serious,” Jace said firmly. “I need to know.”

“What?” she muttered, digging into the spaghetti. 

Jace was quiet for a moment, trying to think of a delicate way to phrase his question. Finally, he asked, “Are you part of Valentine’s Circle?”

“What do you think?” she asked slowly, watching him closely with her bright green eyes.

“I don’t know,” Jace admitted.

She set aside the plate, but her knuckles whitened around the fork. “Jace,” she said slowly. “Why does it matter?”

“I… I don’t know,” he confessed.

Clary folded her fingers together, pressing her palms very close. “I hate Valentine,” she said after a long silence. “He’s been…” She shook her head, her lips a thin line. “I know I told you some things I shouldn’t have after my nightmare…”

Jace nodded slowly.

“I had to run away,” she continued, “before Valentine killed me. What kind of father would try to kill his daughter? And then there’s my hand…” She turned her palm over, but the skin looked pale and perfect to Jace. If there was some kind of scar there, he couldn’t see it.

“What’s wrong with your hand?” he asked.

She shook her head. “It’s nothing I ever want to talk about again,” she said. “Now, does that answer your question?”

“If it’s the truth, it does,” Jace said softly. 

“Do you think it’s the truth?” she asked. Her voice was small and thin and as brittle as paper. “Do you believe me?”

If Jace had a response to either of those questions, he never got a chance to answer. At that moment, the cell door swung open and Jace turned to face Hodge. Hugo was perched on his shoulder like a black shadow with bright little eyes. His feathers were ruffled up and he cawed loudly when he saw Jace, outwardly showing the surprise that was only visible in Hodge’s eyes.

“Jace, what are you doing down here?” Hodge asked nonchalantly.

Jace didn’t answer, unwilling to admit that he was down here for reasons Hodge wouldn’t understand or appreciate.

“Go back to bed,” Hodge said sternly, but he wasn’t looking at Jace. His eyes were fixed on Clary.

The fine hairs on the back of Jace’s neck rose. He didn’t know why, but he suddenly felt painfully uneasy. “Hodge?”

“Go to bed, Jace,” Hodge said again.

Jace realized he was carrying the key to Clary’s chains in one hand and a small dagger in the other. When was the last time Jace had seen Hodge carrying a weapon? He couldn’t think of more than three occasions in all the time he had lived with Hodge and one of them had been when he was using a dagger to cut his meat a few nights ago.

“Hodge?” Jace asked again. The weight of the small dagger in his boot was suddenly cold against his skin. 

Hodge’s eyes moved from Clary to the stone wall beside her head. “Go, Jace,” he said sternly.

Jace followed his gaze, wondering what he was looking at so intently, but he didn’t see anything aside from the rough stone walls. “Hodge?” 

“Leave. Now.”

Suddenly, a jagged rift appeared in the stone wall just beside Clary’s head, tearing apart like too-thin cloth with a sound that was just the same. Bright light shone from the Portal, blinding against the dimness of the dungeon.

X X X

Oh, what a painful cliffhanger for you all. Drop me a review!

Questions, comments, concerns?


	19. The Storm

Well, I suppose everyone survived the cliffhanger.

X X X

For a moment, Jace couldn’t even breathe, none the less move. Shock froze him in place as he stared at the jagged edges of the Portal. Hodge, though, appeared to have been expecting it and quickly surged forward so that Hugo had to beat his wings to remain on his shoulder. He grabbed Clary’s arm and jerked her to her feet. She stumbled, struggling against his hold, and it took Jace a moment to realize she was shouting something.

“No!” she screamed. “I won’t go back to him! I’ll never go back!”

Jace grabbed the dagger from his boot, gripping the handle like an answered prayer. “Stop!” he shouted at them.

Hodge froze for a moment, glancing over his shoulder at Jace. “Go to bed, Jace,” he said. “This has nothing to do with you.”

“Where are you taking her?” Jace demanded. 

“Back to Valentine!” Clary screamed and there was panic in her voice.

“Shut up,” Hodge said bitterly. The blow was sudden, cracking across her face like a gunshot. 

She cried out and then went silent, her hand pressed to the side of her face where Hodge had struck her. Blood rolled from the corner of her lips, bright red in the light of the Portal. The chain around her wrist jingled noisily, writhing across the floor like a snake. It went taut at the mouth of the Portal as Hodge stepped into it, pulling her after him.

“Stop!” Jace shouted again. 

Hodge paused, his face shadowed harshly by the bright light. “Go ahead, Jace,” he said icily. “Stop me.”

A shudder ran through Jace. He glanced at the dagger, the blade shining brightly, and knew he would never be able to throw it at his mentor. Hodge was the closest thing he had to a parent and had raised him since his parents’ brutal death. To attack him would be worse than betrayal and seeing Hodge walking out like this was…

“Are you working for Valentine?” Jace whispered, his blood going cold.

Hodge merely smiled. 

Clary pulled against his grip, the chain around her wrist jerking noisily. “Let me go!” she screamed.

Jace’s eyes went to Clary and he breathed out her name.

She glanced at him, her eyes wide and catching the light from the Portal like mirrors. “Jace,” she whispered. “Jace, please.”

“Unlock the chain on her, Jace,” Hodge interrupted. 

“Why?” Jace gasped.

“So that I can take her with me through the Portal,” Hodge said plainly. “If I pull her through while she’s still chained up, her arm will be ripped off and destroyed.”

Jace’s breath came in a quick little spasm that matched the fear he saw on Clary’s face.

“But if you believe she’s a traitor, leave her chained up. She’ll be so much easier for the Institute to capture if her arm is destroyed and she’s bleeding to death in some godforsaken pit,” Hodge said coolly. He knew what Jace would choose—the boy had always been too kind. “If you break the chain, she can escape unharmed with me.”

“No!” Clary screamed. “Jace, please!”

“I could stop you,” Jace threatened Hodge. “I could take you down instead.”

“But you won’t,” Hodge said evenly. 

Jace tensed, but wasn’t able to deny it. Throwing his dagger as Hodge was only slightly less difficult than it would be to attack Isabelle or Alec.

Hodge tightened his grip on the girl, leaning into the Portal with all his weight. Clary whimpered. The shackle cut into her wrist, her shoulder pulled painfully, and blood ran down her hand. Something blazed in her palm, a pale sort of light that Jace had seen before when she took down the Forsaken.

“Well, Jace,” Hodge asked. “What’ll it be? Let an innocent be maimed and possibly die? Or let a traitor escape freely? She is Morgenstern’s daughter.”

The dagger in Jace’s hand felt heavy and cold as if weighed down with all the death it had already caused.

Hodge leaned harder, his body nearly swallowed by the light of the Portal. Only the silhouette of Hugo’s wings were visible behind him. Clary cried out as the muscles in her shoulder pulled painfully, but the shackle would not give way. There was a dull crack as her shoulder pulled from the socket and she screamed in pain. Her fingers sank into the Portal with Hodge and the magic blazed brighter.

“Goodbye, Jace,” Hodge said.

Clary screamed, a wordless cry of terror and pain that might have once been a name.

Jace hurled the dagger and was satisfied to hear it strike its mark.

Clary screamed again, but the chain shattered beneath the tip of Jace’s dagger and disappeared into the Portal after Hodge and Clary. For only a split-second, the Portal remained like a bright rend in the fabric of the universe, but then it knit itself back together faster than Jace could even understand and was gone without a trace. 

He slid to his knees, panting, stricken.

How could Hodge…? How could he betray them? Betray the Institute? And Jace had allowed Clarissa Morgenstern to escape unharmed, to go back to her father… Valentine would learn that Jace had survived the attack all those years ago. What was he supposed to do now?

…

Isabelle Lightwood had never been the kind of person to lock her bedroom door. She didn’t even lock the bathroom door when she was in the shower. She had always liked and nearly lived by the saying, “My heart is open. Never closed, never locked. It needs to key.” (1) That night, her unlocked door nearly fouled Jace when he barreled into her room. He had been running at full tilt, half-expecting to have to blast the door open with his bodyweight, but the door gave easily and he spilled into the room in a heap.

Isabelle sat up sharply, reaching for the dagger on her nightstand. She was still very much on edge from Valentine’s invasion of the Institute. When she saw Jace lying in a heap on her floor, she threw herself out of bed and went immediately to his side. “Jace? What the hell? What happened?”

He sat up, pressing a hand to his head, and he suddenly looked very young. His arms and legs were very long, knobby and thin, but corded with toned muscles and marked with scars in the way that no child was. “It’s Hodge,” he gasped out.

Isabelle’s heart skipped a beat. “What about Hodge?”

“He took Clary through a Portal,” he continued between pants. “He took her to Valentine. He’s gone, Isabelle. He’s gone!”

“What?!” she shouted, grabbing his shoulder and giving him a shake to be certain he wasn’t dreaming. “What?!”

“Stop shaking me,” Jace said and wrest away from her. “He took her to Valentine. He’s betrayed us.”

“Are you sure he wasn’t taking her to—”

“Yes, Isabelle,” Jace interrupted. “I’m positive.” 

And then he told her everything Hodge had done in the dungeon that night. He told her about the choice he had been forced to make—whether to allow Clary’s arm to be destroyed by the chain or to allow her to escape unharmed. He told her about Hodge’s cruel expression, the way he mocked Jace for his kindness, how he was very prepared to allow Clary to be maimed, and how he carried a dagger. By the time Jace finished, there was no doubt in Isabelle’s mind either. Hodge had betrayed them.

“We have to tell Alec,” Isabelle said softly. “We have to tell the Clave. We have to tell someone.”

Jace shook his head, golden tresses whispering against his cheeks. Again, he looked very young and thin, his eyes hidden behind the curtain of too-long hair. “No,” he said. “We have to go after Clary. I have a feeling if Hodge brings her to Valentine, she’ll be killed.”

Isabelle wet her lips. “But, the Institute…”

“It’ll be fine on its own,” Jace said softly. “The Silent Brothers will come tomorrow morning to interrogate Clary and they’ll find it empty.”

“They’ll suspect we’re all involved,” Isabelle whispered.

“Aren’t we?” Jace asked her and his eyes shone like gold disks in the dark. 

“I’ll leave them a note,” Isabelle said more to herself than to him. “You wake Alec and tell him what happened.”

Jace nodded and scraped himself to his feet. “We have to leave soon,” he said.

“Wait,” Isabelle said suddenly and grasped his wrist as he turned to leave. The bones felt thin and brittle in her hand, fragile, like Jace was ten years old again with his parents freshly buried. “Do you even know where to look for her, Jace?”

He nodded.

“Where?”

“As Clary was being pulled into the Portal, I heard her scream a name. I think it’s a place.”

“Where?” Isabelle said again.

“I think she said, ‘Renwick’s.’”

…

Alec was less easily swayed than his sister, but he still agreed after few minutes of explanation. It was that look in Jace’s golden eyes as if he was about to lose something precious that truly persuaded Alec. He never wanted to see that expression on the face of anyone he loved and if he could prevent it, he would without a second thought. He tried not to think about how Jace had that expression over Valentine Morgenstern’s daughter. 

And in the span of three days, the young Shadowhunters once again packed small rucksacks of spare clothing, food, and weapons. This time, Jace’s pack was empty of blue Persians. The trio met in the foyer, each clad in lightweight battle gear. They took one long look at their home as if they would never return to it, but it didn’t really feel like home anymore. Hodge, their mentor, had betrayed them and gone to Valentine. Everything was crumbling around them.

Church was crouched on a low Victorian couch that had been slashed violently in the attack and now needed to be reupholstered. His eyes glowed in the darkness like twin mirrors reflecting the moonlight. He meowed at them mournfully, cry echoing hollowly against the repaired walls, but not even Jace came to pet him. This place was no longer home for the young trio and even Church realized that. The cat watched them vanish into the night. 

…

Renwick’s Smallpox Hospital (2) had been closed and fallen into disrepair years before Jace was born. As a designated landmark of New York City, it was somewhere he had always heard about but never had any desire to visit. Looking at it now, through sheets of darkness, it certainly looked like the perfect place for a person like Valentine Morgenstern to use as a base. It was so heavily layered with glamour that it took Jace a moment to peer through the lingering façade of stone and vines to see what Valentine had rebuilt it as. He hadn’t made a lot of changes since the hospital had always looked like a gothic castle.

“This is it,” Alec said as he stepped up beside Jace. The warmth of his body filtered through the cool night and soaked into Jace’s side. 

“I don’t know about this,” Isabelle said, eyeing the many guards that walked the perimeter of the building. “I don’t think we have the skills to take on that many members of the Circle. They’ve all been Shadowhunters longer than we’ve been alive.”

“Plus Hodge is in there,” Alec added softly.

“I’ll go,” Jace said suddenly. He shrugged off his rucksack and handed it to Alec. “Valentine will let me in.”

“What?!” Alec and Isabelle shouted in unison. Luckily they were far enough away from the hospital not to be heard. 

“Are you crazy?” Isabelle continued.

“You’re not going in there alone,” Alec said shortly. “That’s final.”

“If we try to break in, they’ll put us on our asses in fifteen minutes and we’ll be in the same position that Clary is,” Jace said evenly. “If I walk up, Valentine will find out that I survived. I’m sure he’ll want to talk to me.”

“Or maybe he’ll just finish off what he started,” Isabelle said bitterly.

“Do you have a better idea?” Jace asked them.

But he was already pulling off weapons and handing them to Alec without waiting for an answer. Alec was accepting them silently, his face stony like a granite angel. He knew Jace was right even if he didn’t want to admit it. This was the best idea they had, if not their only plan. Even as Jace removed the final Seraph blade from his back, there was a horrible scream from the hospital. They didn’t have time to think of anything else.

“If I don’t come out in an hour and a half, go to the Silent City and tell the Silent Brothers what happened,” Jace said. “Tell them everything.”

Alec gripped his arm, his blue eyes bright in the darkness. “Don’t let it come to that, Jace,” he said firmly. “You come back.”

Jace nodded. “I’ll be back in two shakes,” he promised to the best of his ability.

Isabelle took out her Stele and drew part of a healing rune on Jace’s forearm so he could finish it quickly if he needed to. Alec added a rune of his own, gripping Jace’s arm tightly as if he wanted to pour his own strength into his parabatai. Marked suitably to walk into a den of vipers, Jace gave his friends a strong smile and stood up from the shelter of the bushes where they were crouched together. They watched him go with the sense that he wasn’t coming back.

X X X

(1) This is something Elizabeth Liddell says to Alice in American McGee’s Alice: Madness Returns video game. 

(2) I’m not sure how many people will be surprised to find out that Renwick’s Smallpox Hospital is a real place. You can see a ton of pictures on it on Google and such. It’s very cool looking, except only the outer structure remains. And despite what the author of the books (Cassandra Clare) said, it was never recorded as a lunatic asylum. It was always a hospital, first for smallpox and then for maternity and charity.

Questions, comments, concerns?


	20. Fight or Flight?

Hopefully, no cliffhanger is lurking at the end of this chapter.

X X X

The Smallpox Hospital was lit up at night as an attraction for mundanes and the glamour wavered back and forth with reality, mingling with the floodlights Valentine had put up to spot intruders. The moment Jace stepped into one and revealed himself, a flurry of activity rose up not unlike hunting dogs that had finally caught sight of their prey. Several more lights went up, blinding him, and three of the Circle’s guards came towards him. They carried long jagged weapons that looked like shards of black glass and a shiver of fear went up Jace’s spine.

Jace lifted his hands in surrender and called to them, “My name is Jace Wayland. I want to talk to Valentine.”

Two of the guards raised their weapons and Jace suddenly had a feeling that his plan wasn’t going to work. He was about to grab the dagger from his boot and try to fight them when the third guard put out his hand to stop the others.

“Jace Wayland?” he repeated.

He nodded, lowering his arms slightly.

The guard grinned and his teeth were the hideous yellow of a chain smoker. “She thought you’d come,” he said fiercely.

Jace’s heart skipped a beat. “Clary did?”

His grin broadened until Jace could see several missing molars. “Right this way, Jace Wayland.”

With no other choice since this was what he had wanted, Jace followed the guard into the hospital. It was neat inside, cleaner than the Institute was at the moment, but Jace’s skin crawled regardless. The interior was cooler than the night outside and he could sense countless eyes watching him closely even if he couldn’t see them. Though he was without a Sensor, he was almost certain there were demons lurking in the shadows.

“This way,” the guard called.

Jace had to hurry to keep up with the guard’s long strides, trying to memorize all the twists and turns of the hospital. After losing track of all the lefts and rights, Jace gave up and followed along rather helplessly. The guard stopped short in front of a large door that once must have been the hospital director’s office. There was the sound of smooth jazz playing inside and warm amber light filtered under the door, spilling into the hallway like pale blood.

“Here you are, Jace Wayland,” the guard said and then he chuckled meanly. 

He stood there, watching Jace closely, as he hesitated before the door. Jace quickly pulled himself together and opened the door, stepping into the office before he could lose his nerve. The warm lamplight was blinding after the dimness of the hallway.

“Welcome,” came a smooth voice.

“Jace!” Clary’s voice was thin and relieved.

Jace blinked in the brightness to clear his vision and, for a moment, he could only stare. He had first seen Valentine Morgenstern when he was a mere child of ten. The man had butchered his parents and then slit Jace’s throat in an attempt to kill him as well. Jace had always known that his childish fear had morphed and changed Valentine from a normal man to a monster, but as he stared at his greatest foe, he was surprised by how much of his memory had been correct.

Valentine was very pale, like a ghost just as Jace remembered, with white-blond hair and parchment-white skin. His eyes were black pits in his white face, dark and large like those of a demon’s with a strange sort of light deep in the depths of them. He was not ten feet tall as Jace had thought as a child, but rather of average height and weight. He wasn’t wearing black clothing at the moment like the Boogeyman and instead wore a three piece suit reminiscent of a mob boss in the old black-and-white movies.

Something Jace did not recall at all from the distant time when Valentine had murdered his parents was the man’s absolute charisma. Valentine had a winning smile with perfect white teeth and thin lips. His hands were long and graceful as he poured a glass of brandy. Only the dagger stabbed straight into the center of the old desk gave a nod to his true nature. It was only Jace’s deep-seated hatred that kept him from beginning to feel comfortable in the warmly-lit office with an antique gramophone playing jazz in the background. 

“Valentine Morgenstern,” Jace said bitterly. 

Valentine smiled widely and swept himself gracefully into the leather wingback chair behind the desk. “Jace Wayland,” he said silkily. “I thought you were dead. You can imagine my surprise when my daughter told me you helped her to escape.”

Jace glanced at Clary. She was seated in another wingback chair to Valentine’s right and she would have looked comfortable if not for her wrists and ankles shackled cruelly to the chair. Her dislocated shoulder had been reset, but there were bruises marring her pale skin. She had been given fresh clothes that actually fit. Keeping in style with Valentine’s antique office, Clary wore a vintage dress with little cap sleeves, a low neck trimmed with pale lace, and a wide bow at her waist. It complimented her pale skin, red hair, and green eyes beautifully and Jace admitted in the back of his mind that she really was pretty.

Valentine chuckled and Jace tore his eyes from her. “Not many people could endure having their throat cut, nonetheless a child. Would you like a drink?” He gestured to the decanter of brandy on the desk beside the shining dagger. 

The coldness in Jace’s gut must have been how Clary had felt to accept food from him in the Institute’s dungeon, but he wasn’t nearly as desperate as she was. “No,” he said shortly.

“Suit yourself,” Valentine said smoothly. He poured himself a glass and took a sip. “It’s delicious, very nicely aged.”

“Where’s Hodge?” Jace demanded.

“Well, I’m sure I don’t know,” Valentine told him. “Did you come for your treacherous mentor or for my pretty daughter?”

Clary tugged against her restraints and if there had been any doubts left in Jace’s mind about her loyalties, they were laid to rest now. Her face was still bruised from the Silent Brothers’ and Hodge’s abuses. Valentine had made no move to heal her save for manually fixing her dislocated shoulder. Her wrists were badly bruised beneath her shackles as if she had been trying to escape for a long time. A tiny voice in the back of Jace’s mind reminded him that this could all be part of their plan, but it was a very small sound behind his pounding heart.

Then, there was a terrible sound from under the desk and Valentine pushed his chair back, moving his legs aside with a smile. Jace stared, stricken, as a demon stretched itself out from under the desk. It was black and shiny as if wet with fresh blood with long limbs and jagged claws. It focused on Jace with deep red eyes in its black face and its white teeth looked like shards of glass. The demon was rather small, but Jace carried only a tiny dagger in his boot and even a small demon could do a lot of damage to an unarmed Shadowhunter. 

“Do you like my pet?” Valentine asked, but he did not lift his hand to pet the demon as Jace had half-expected.

Clary strained harder against her bonds as countless tentacles sprouted from the demon’s back and writhed as if scenting the air. The demon was careful to avoid the dagger stuck in the desk so it must have been a Shadowhunter weapon, unlike the dagger Jace had hidden in his boot which was only a plain dagger. Valentine had always hated demons and Downworlders, going so far as to go against the Clave and lead the Uprising in his attempts to wipe them both out. He had never expected Valentine to be in league with demons.

Valentine rose from his chair, circling the desk to come stand beside Clary. His eyes never left Jace. “It’s very pretty, Clarissa,” he said and brushed a loose red curl back behind her ear.

She tossed her head away from him, her eyes like chips of precious jewels and sharper than any knife. “Leave him alone,” she hissed.

“It’s pretty and it comes to your aid,” Valentine continued. “You really are just like your mother.”

“Don’t talk about me like I’m not here,” Jace snapped, but the fine hairs on the back of his neck rose as the small demon made that horrible gravelly sound deep in its throat. It sounded like a moan intermingled with a scream and it chilled Jace to his bones.

Valentine’s black eyes flashed over him. “It talks, too,” he said smoothly. “It’s pretty, it talks, and it aids you, Clarissa. Shall we see how strong it is?”

“Unfortunately for you, I’m stronger than I look,” Jace snapped. 

Valentine’s smile was full of teeth. “Inside… and out…?” he murmured.

“Jace!” Clary gasped, her voice rising into a shout and shrill with panic. “Run! Run now!”

But Jace had never been one to run. He ducked quickly as the demon leaped at him, bending down to snatch the dagger from his boot. If he could use the dagger he carried to distract the demon long enough to grab the Shadowhunter weapon from Valentine’s desk, he might have a chance. The demon landed hard behind him, making that horrible moaning-screaming sound deep in its throat. Again, it leaped at Jace and managed to catch the back of his calf in a painful rending bite. 

Jace went down hard several feet from the desk and the weapon, scrabbling wildly beneath the demon. He managed to get his foot into its chest and heaved it off, sending it crashing into Valentine’s antique gramophone. The smooth jazz sputtered out with a sound almost as terrible as the demon was making. Jace threw himself to his feet, blood running down his leg in rivulets. He gripped his dagger tightly, his back to the desk as he eyed the demon closely. It looked just as wary as he felt, but it was licking its lips eagerly with the taste of Jace’s blood.

“Jace!” Clary screamed. “Look out!”

Jace whirled away from the lunging demon in time to see only a glimpse of Valentine’s smooth grin and the flash of the empty desk. Where was the dagger that had been stabbed into its surface? Then, searing white-hot pain raced through his side. He stumbled back, colliding sharply with the wall, and his own weapon slipped from his hand as he clutched at his side. Only the hilt of the dagger was visible, protruding from his body like a broken bone, and blood streamed down his side.

“It’s pretty,” Valentine said smoothly, “and smart, but not strong enough.”

Clary’s palm blazed with fiery light and Valentine shouted something Jace didn’t understand through the ringing in his ears. She ripped her hand from the shackle, her skin tearing like paper, and quickly freed herself from the other restraints pinning her to the chair. Her skin was bloody and raw, circled with bruises, but she didn’t look like she felt the pain. She threw herself past Valentine, her hand flashing out as quick and bright as a falling star.

She lunged towards Jace, throwing herself between him and the demon with mere seconds to spare. Her body was warm where she pressed herself against him and the demon threw itself at her back, slamming them painfully together. Pain roared through Jace’s leg and side, searing, and little black spots began to cloud his vision. Somehow, he stayed on his feet. There was the sound of tearing cloth and for a moment, Jace thought his body was making that sound.

Clary whimpered softly and the demon let out the moaning-scream. Its tentacles writhed over the tops of Clary’s shoulders, pressing against Jace’s throat and face in their quest to touch Clary’s skin. Others smoothed over her sides, roaming Jace as well. When one brushed the dagger protruding from his side, he nearly screamed. Valentine was slumped in the wingback chair behind his desk, eyes out-of-focus. Had Clary struck him with the power in her hand?

“Jace,” she breathed out.

Again, there was the sound of tearing fabric and she made a soft sound of pain in her chest. They were pressed together, chest to chest, with the demon thrusting insistently against Clary’s back so that Jace could see the strangeness in her eyes. She was in pain and she looked frightened but also resolved.

“Clary,” he whispered and his mouth tasted like blood.

“It’s okay,” she murmured. “You’re okay.” Then, her fingernails dug into his chest, raking through his shirt and into the flesh beneath. He barely felt it through the searing pain in his side where Valentine’s dagger was sunken deep into his body.

“What is…?” he whispered, but couldn’t finish the question.

“It’s okay,” she told him breathlessly. “I’ve been raped before.”

Jace became aware of the press of her hips against his. Her body was being rocked into him rhythmically and hard, pounding painfully, and Jace realized he could feel the demon’s tentacles sliding against his thighs, but they appeared to have no interest in him. They writhed against Clary.

“It’s…” he gasped, pain and horror slicing through his words.

“I’m alright,” she said again. 

The sleeves of her dress slid down off her shoulders and her pale skin was naked and painfully bruised beneath the lovely fabric. One of the demon’s tentacles slid over her shoulder, coiling around her throat and pulling her head back by the hair. The column of her throat and pale and white and so vulnerable. Jace could have leaned forward and pressed his lips to it if he had desired, but the demon had other ideas in mind. Jagged teeth pressed to the side of her throat, drawing crimson, and it drank her blood like a vampire would.

“Help me,” she whispered into Jace’s chest, nails raking into him again, but her voice was strong even through her pain. “Valentine’s going to wake up soon and then nothing will save us… Kill the demon, please… Jace, please…”

Jace had wrapped his arms around her as best he could the moment he realized the demon was raping her and now, he pried his arm from the webs of tentacles writhing against Clary’s back. The only weapon he had at his disposal was the Shadowhunter’s dagger that Valentine had stabbed him with. The hilt was slippery with blood, but fit against his palm like an answered prayer. He took a deep breath to steel his nerves. His side throbbed and the edges of his vision began to tunnel from the pain. 

Clary’s lips pressed against his collarbone, soft when she spoke, “Quickly.”

Jace nodded, his chin brushing the top of her head as he did so. He grit his teeth and quickly ripped the dagger from his body in a fountain of blood. It was only the press of Clary’s body against his that kept him on his feet as the world spun wildly. He stabbed blindly behind Clary’s back and heard the demon scream in agony as the angelic weapon sank into its mark. Clary let out a sharp cry of relief as the demon dissolved against her back, but it clung desperately to her dress, tearing the fabric further. 

Jace slid into a heap, doubled over on his hands and knees, and the dagger clattered from his grasp. It shone, mingling with Jace’s bright ruby blood and the black ink of the demon’s. Clary grabbed it, shedding the remains of her ruined dress. Her bra had survived the demon’s violent attack, but her panties weren’t so lucky. There was so much blood.  
Jace gasped in pain as he peeled his bloodied shirt over his head and handed it to her blindly. “We have to go,” he gasped out. 

Clary pulled the bloody t-shirt over her head carelessly. Then, she grabbed his arm, pulled it over her shoulder, and heaved him to his feet. She had more strength than he thought possible for her small body to possess. Her palm felt hot against his skin.

“Where’s your Stele?” she asked, leaning him against the wall. 

“In my pocket,” Jace whispered.

She checked both his front pockets but didn’t find it. She reached into his back pocket and finally found the crystal-tipped instrument. Drawing it out, she quickly finished the healing rune Isabelle had started on his forearm. The power spread through Jace’s body in a blaze of heat, focusing on the wound in his side. He could feel the injury knitting together, but he had still lost too much blood to stand on his own. The bite in his leg throbbed in time with his heartbeat, but healed almost completely in moments. 

“We have to leave. Turn right outside the office,” Jace panted.

She pulled him away from the wall and held him tight to her side, supporting him as best she could, as she towed him out into the hallway. It was blessedly deserted and just as dimly-lit. Clary, though, didn’t appear to plan on leaving the same way Jace had arrived. She turned a quick left and hurried him down the hallway. He limped badly, finding it hard to breathe and leaning on her for support. Something in his side felt broken, badly broken.

“This is the wrong way,” he gasped out.

“It’s not,” she insisted. “Trust me.”

Jace still wasn’t sure that he did, but he didn’t have much of the choice right now. He imagined that Valentine was beginning to stir in his ruined office, blinking and groaning. Clary limped him down the hallway and pushed open another door. Inside, the room was very empty save a door with countless different knobs along one side. It was a Five-Dimensional Door—something Jace had only ever read about—capable to taking them anywhere in the world in mere seconds. 

“Where are we going?” he panted.

“Somewhere safe,” Clary told him.

She grabbed a crystal knob and pulled the door open, leaping through it without a second thought. There was a bright light and a rushing sensation that made Jace think he was going to arrive wherever they were going with half his face tucked behind each ear. If Clary was bothered by traveling through the Portal, she didn’t show it.

X X X

Questions, comments, concerns?

Review!


	21. The Coup

Well, the rain has finally stopped. It’s poured here for three days… (Oddly enough, my cat has loved it.)

X X X

Jace and Clary landed with a bone-jarring thump, rolling through wet grass. Jace cried out, the pain in his side still fresh and searing despite the healing rune, and curled up like a cocktail shrimp against the base of a slide. Clary sat up easily, brushing back her curtain of blood-red hair and pulling Jace’s shirt down over her thighs. She crawled through the wet grass to his side, pulling him away from the playground equipment and pressing her fingertips to the fading injury between his ribs. Several of his ribs had been broken by the brutal stab and she felt them crack and pop as they healed beneath her hands.

“You’re alright,” she said kindly. “Now get up. We have to move before Valentine comes after us.”

Jace nodded into the cool grass, his breath coming raggedly as his bones mended.

Clary helped him sit up, brushed some pale hair tenderly out of his face, and then pulled him to his feet. He wrapped his arm around her shoulders, leaning on her for support. Her body was thin and warm against his side, but she shivered as the cool night air nipped at her exposed legs and arms. Jace was too distracted by the pain in his side to feel the cold and he stumbled along with her. 

“Where are we?” he gasped out.

“In Central Park,” she told him.

“Where are we going?”

“Somewhere safe, I told you that.”

Jace made a little sound of pain as he stumbled over a crack in the sidewalk.

“It’s not far,” she said kindly. 

“Tell that to my body,” he muttered. “Valentine is going to follow the trail of blood.”

“You’re alright,” she said again. “You’re healing.”

She tightened her grip on him, pulling him closer. Her teeth chattered and he squeezed her a little nearer.

“Cold?” he whispered, hoping the conversation would take his mind off the pain he was feeling.

“Freezing,” she said softly.

“I’d give you my shirt, but you’re already wearing it.”

She smiled thinly. “Thank you, Jace,” she murmured.

“For what?”

“For coming after me,” she whispered. “He was going to kill me until I told him that you were coming.”

“What does he want with me?”

“Nothing,” she admitted. “He thought you were dead and he’d prefer it that way. He just wanted to see what kind of person would come after me and why.”

Jace was quiet, wincing as he stepped down from the curb and crossed the street. “Clary, none of this is part of some bigger plan, is it? You’re not planning to get close to me so you can kill Alec and Isabelle or anything, right?”

She faltered under his arm, her breath sneaking out in a little gasp.

“Tell me the truth,” he whispered. 

She shook her head, red curls kissing her throat and cheeks. “No, Jace,” she murmured. “It’s not. I’ve been trying to escape Valentine for a long time. When we get to where we’re going, you’ll be able to believe me for certain.” Then, she said so softly that he barely heard it, “I would never bring you there if I didn’t trust you.”

“I’ll hold you to that,” he said and cursed as he stumbled over some garbage and nearly fell. His side throbbed and the pain was radiating through his entire body. Isabelle’s rune had been too small to heal him completely and replenish his blood. He could only hope that Clary’s words could be trusted and that she wasn’t leading him to his death. Either way, he didn’t have the strength to fight.

…

It was occasionally difficult to live in an abandoned police station in Chinatown. The exterior was layered with glamour so it looked like any other hole-in-the-wall Chinese restaurant, but the interior was still cursed the police station vibe. It never seemed to change no matter how many filing cabinets or desks were replaced with couches and tables. Maybe it was the holding cells that were just visible if one peeked around the corner or maybe it was the faded shape of the emblem just inside the doors. It wasn’t fooling anyone, but there was never a dull moment.

There was a loud knocking on the door a little after two in the morning and Luke Garroway, who had been sleeping on the couch, woke with a start. The book he had been reading slid from his lap and fell on the floor with a thump. He might have never been a police officer, but he stood by their adage that nothing good happened between the hours of midnight and three in the morning. He could smell blood before he even opened the door and he didn’t turn on any lights in his haste to reach the doorway.

Standing on the other side was Clarissa Morgenstern with a pale boy leaning heavily on her shoulder. Her long legs were naked and smeared with human and demon blood. She was wearing a man’s t-shirt with a life-threatening amount of blood soaked into the side of it. The boy she was supporting was covered in the dark runes of a Shadowhunter, his naked chest marked in countless places. There was a healing wound in his side that corresponded with all the blood on the t-shirt so he must have been wearing it when he was hurt. His jeans were just as bloody and he was barely on his feet.

Luke ushered them both inside and shouted loud enough to wake the dead, “Simon! Get up! Get in here!”

“How many times do I have to tell you, Luke?” came a young voice from around the corner of the precinct’s main room. “I only sleep during the day.”

Luke eased the Shadowhunter boy down onto the couch and checked him over quickly. There was a fresh healing rune on his forearm and the wound in his side was mending neatly. He looked weak and pale, but not in any danger of dying. He would be fine in a few hours. 

Then, Luke turned to scrutinize Clary. “Are you alright? What happened? I’ve been worried sick,” he said to quickly for her to get a word in edgewise. When he finally paused for breath, she tried to answer, but he enveloped her in his arms instead.

Clary smiled and melted into Luke’s strong embrace.

A moment later, Simon appeared around a bank of phones. He froze for a moment, taking in the sight before him. “Oh god, Clary!” he rushed at her with inhuman speed and threw his arms around her just as Luke released her. “You’re back! Are you okay? What happened?”

“It’s a long story,” she said and patted his back.

He released her, taking in her appearance and then glancing over his shoulder at the pale Shadowhunter slumped on the couch behind them. “And who is this?”

“This is Jace Wayland,” she said more to Luke than to Simon. “I need some clothes.”

“Where are your clothes?” Luke asked her.

She gave a little roll of her shoulders and brushed away some dried blood on her thigh.

Luke suddenly looked pale and sad, his lips pulling down and his eyes darkening. He reached out to touch her, but stopped before doing so. “I’ll see what I can find for you in the back,” he offered.

Clary nodded. “That’d be nice.”

Simon turned away from his staring contest with Jace and took in Clary’s appearance. “Who did this to you?” he asked, reaching out to gently trace the bruises on her wrists and face.

“Take a guess,” she said coldly.

Simon whirled back to Jace, glaring down at the Shadowhunter. Needle-sharp fangs slid down over his lips and he bared then in an animalistic display of wrath. “How dare you hurt her! I’ll kill you and drain you into a husk!”

Jace’s shoulders tensed, the muscles in his chest rippling, but he didn’t have the strength to fight his way out of a wet paper bag right now.

Thankfully, Clary punched Simon in the arm. “Not him,” she said sharply. “Take another guess. Make it a rational one.”

Simon turned away from Jace and appeared to pull himself together. He took a deep breath, nostrils flaring as he scented the blood in the air, but a vampire’s sense of smell was more sensitive than that. “Valentine,” he said in a growl. “And is that a demon I smell?”

Clary nodded, twisting some hair around her finger.

“Oh god, Clary. Did it—”

“Hush,” she told him. “It’s happened before. It’s nothing new.”

“It matters, Clary!” Simon half-shouted. “How many times has that bastard let you be raped? By demons? By Shadowhunters? By members of his nasty little Circle?”

Clary waved him away, her hand flashing like a pale dove that had been caged. “It doesn’t matter,” she said again. “Sex is just sex, no matter the form.”

“But Clary—”

“I’m tired,” she interrupted. “And I’m filthy. I’m going to take a shower. Don’t do anything stupid while I’m gone.”

Simon nodded slowly and watched her walk away. She ran into Luke in the hallway and accepted some clothes from him with a smile. She spent a moment talking to him, but Jace couldn’t make out what she was saying in the dimness. Then, she disappeared into the shadows and Jace had a feeling these two were going to kill him outright. Instead, Luke came to sit beside him on the couch and didn’t help as Jace struggled himself into a better sitting position. 

“Simon,” Luke said sternly. “Sit and stop glaring. We owe this boy a lot.”

“Do we?” Simon muttered. “He’s a Shadowhunter.”

“Who are you people?” Jace interrupted.

“An organized coup,” Luke said plainly. “We oppose Valentine, but also cannot side with the Clave.”

“Downworlders,” Jace whispered.

Luke nodded. “Precisely. Now, you should try to get some sleep. We’ll talk about this in the morning.”

“Wait!” Jace shouted, his heart leaping into his throat and choking him. “When I broke Clary out of Renwick’s, I left behind two of my friends. They’ll be waiting for me! I have to go back and tell them I’m alright!”

Luke put a hand on his shoulder and pressed him back against the couch cushions. “Relax,” he said firmly. “You’ve been hurt badly and I know Shadowhunter runes are powerful, but not that powerful. You need to rest. Simon will go.”

“Me?” Simon asked incredulously at the same moment Jace shouted, “Him?”

“Yes, you,” Luke said to Simon. “Turn into a bat and fly over there. Explain what happened and bring his friends here.”

“What time is it?” Jace asked.

“A little after two in the morning,” Luke told him.

Jace stared at Luke, his eyes wide with surprise. He couldn’t believe that barely an hour had passed since he infiltrated Renwick’s to rescue Clary. Alec and Isabelle would still be waiting outside in the bushes like a pair of cat burglars for another half an hour before they went to alert the Clave. 

Luke turned to Simon, mistaking Jace’s surprise for something else. “Hurry,” he told the vampire firmly. 

Simon nodded and Jace stared with rapt attention as he began to fold and shift in on himself. Jace had never seen a vampire change shape before and it was kind of a sickening sight. Simon grew smaller and smaller inside his clothes, his jaw and face shrinking while his ears developed into little points. His nose pushed out into a little snout, his teeth going small and pointed, and his eyes darkened into little back stones. Then, he was gone. After a moment, a small bat worked itself out of a pile of clothes and took to the air, shrieking. Luke walked to the door and opened it, freeing the bat into the night.

“He’ll be back with your friends,” Luke said kindly. “Until then, why don’t you rest?”

Jace found himself nodding and pressed his hand to his aching side. Luke laid a knitted afghan quilt over him and the warmth soaked into Jace’s cold skin. After a moment, his eyes grew heavy and he found himself falling into a dreamless sleep.

…

What felt like mere minutes later, Jace was woken by a pair of arms wrapping around his neck and strangling him in a happy embrace. “Jace! Jace! Jace!” a female voice was crying. He was overwhelmed by the scent of roses and leather and clean skin.

“Isabelle, stop. You’re going to kill him,” Alec said sternly. 

The couch dipped and Isabelle settled in beside Jace. Alec sat on her other side, giving Jace’s hand a soft squeeze. Relieved, Jace sat up and studied them. Unlike him, they looked just the same as they had when he left them though Isabelle’s dark hair was full of sticks and leaves. Absently, Jace picked a few off and set them down on the coffee table. He half-listened as Luke explained to them that they were Downworlders who opposed Valentine along with everything else he had already told Jace.

“So this,” Isabelle jerked her thumb at Simon, “belongs to you?”

Luke slid Simon an inscrutable glance and then he nodded. Simon continued dressing in his fallen clothes without a backwards glance.

“What’s wrong with him?” Jace put in. “Other than the obvious.”

Isabelle huffed and folded her arms over her chest.

“Isabelle’s just a little tired and cranky,” Alec said quietly to Jace. “The vampire dropped out of the sky and turned into a naked guy who told us you were staying here with them.”

“Imagine my surprise to see a bat turn into a naked man,” Isabelle muttered and made a face.

“You wish you’ve seen more men like me naked,” Simon snapped at her.

“I’ve seen plenty of little—”

“Settle down now,” Luke interrupted. “Simon, why don’t you go check on Clary and let her know everyone arrived here safely. As for you three, you must be tired. You can stay here tonight and we’ll finish talking about this in the morning. You’ll be safe here. I’ll get some more blankets.”

“Thank you,” Jace said sleepily.

Simon grumbled his way out of the room with Luke’s hand pressed to the back of his neck firmly, guiding him out like a stubborn child. The moment both were gone, Isabelle and Alec whirled on Jace, gripping him tightly. 

“We should go,” Isabelle said urgently.

“This place is full of Downworlders,” Alec added.

“It’s okay,” Jace said softly and shook off their nervous grasps. “I think this is a safe place and these are good people regardless of what they are. Besides, I don’t know about you, but I want to know what Luke’s going to tell us in the morning. I want to know what’s going on.”

“What about Valentine’s lair? What happened at Renwick’s?” Isabelle asked.

Alec prodded at Jace’s side, prying a hiss from him. “Are you alright?” he asked softly.

Jace nodded. “Yeah, I’m fine… just tired… hurts…”

Luke returned and set a stack of blankets and spare pillows down on the coffee table. He collected the pile of leaves Jace had picked from Isabelle’s hair and dumped it in the garbage. “Make yourselves comfortable,” he told them kindly. “There are plenty of couches and chairs.”

“Thank you,” Isabelle said politely despite herself. 

Luke smiled at her and his smile was very much like Hodge’s, warm and fatherly and truthfully kind. He nodded to each of them, picked up his book, and headed down the hallway after Simon and Clary. The air inside the station was crisp and cool, the air conditioner humming quietly somewhere, and scented with lingering coffee and the vague smell of wet dog. Though Alec and Isabelle were trying to talk to him, Jace was too exhausted to listen. His eyes slipped closed, the weight of the afghan quilt was perfect and warm, and he was back to sleep in an instant.

…

Clary was combing her tangled hair in front of the bathroom mirror for the first time in what felt like years when there was a light knock on the door. She took a moment to smooth Luke’s borrow clothes down over her shoulders and thighs before calling, “It’s open. Come in.”

Luke peered around the doorjamb, studying her wordlessly.

“I’m alright, Luke,” she told him. “Simon’s overreacting. It’s only sex.”

“Clary,” Luke said softly. “It really isn’t. Being raped is serious. It’s damaging.”

“Not to me, it isn’t,” she said and pulled a knot from her hair. “It doesn’t matter.”

“Clary, your father is supposed to protect you,” Luke said softly.

“Valentine’s not a real father,” she said bitterly.

“You know I’m here for you, Clary,” Luke offered.

“I know,” she said and dropped the comb into a drawer noisily. “I’m okay, really, Luke. I’ll call a warlock tomorrow to make sure I’m not pregnant and get rid of it if I am. The last thing I need is a demon-child growing in my gut.”

“Clary—”

“No, Luke,” she interrupted. “It’s nothing. I’m fine.”

Again, Luke reached out as if he wanted to embrace her, to touch her hair, to comfort her in some physical way like a parent would, but he halted before he could do so. His fingers curled back against his palm and he pushed his hands into his pockets. Clary watched him, her green eyes like flecks of stony emerald. 

“Luke,” she said gently and patted his shoulder. “I’m okay, really. I’d tell you if I wasn’t, you know that, right?”

Luke nodded.

“We’ll talk in the morning,” Clary assured him. 

Again, he nodded.

Clary guided him out of the bathroom and closed the door softly behind him. Then, she turned back to the mirror and studied her reflection. There were dark circles under her eyes and her face was still badly bruised. The demon had torn her body deeply on the inside and her hips were circled with bruises, but she didn’t feel the disgusting skin-crawling sensation of its violation. Instead, she could only feel the warmth of Jace’s skin and muscles under her fingers and the press of his arms around her back. He had held her so gently, his kindness intermingling with the memory of the demon raping her.

She shook herself, pushing her hair out of her face. Luke’s clothes didn’t fit, but at least they covered her skin, hiding the worst of her bruises and scars. She was tired and she was finally safe. She hung up her wet towel and made her way down the hallway to an office that had been converted into a spare bedroom. Simon was inside, sitting at a desk with a collection of manga volumes spread around him. He looked up at her when she entered the room, but didn’t say anything. His expression was sad, pitying, just as Luke’s had been.

“I’m fine,” she assured him and slid into the neatly-made bed. Simon wouldn’t go to sleep until the next morning, being nocturnal and all, so she had the bed to herself. Letting out a sigh of relief, she closed her eyes and drifted off to sleep, listening to the sounds of Simon turning pages occasionally and the distant whine of the air conditioner.

X X X

Well, we're finally seeing Luke and Simon. I was beginning to think I'd never get to them! Phew, that was a long chapter. There was a lot to do and more to talk about.

Questions, comments, concerns?

Drop a review!


	22. Conversations and Questions

Thanks to beverlie4055, Imy, and DenizenofTwilight for always reviewing each chapter. You guys keep me going! I love you!

So, who’s still holding out that Clary has something up her sleeve?

X X X

The next morning dawned painfully sunny and rather insistent. The warm buttery light streamed between the slats of the venetian blinds even though they were closed, forcing Simon to slink about avoiding direct sunlight on his bare arms. (1) A police station wasn’t exactly the type of building to have curtains after all. After the trio of young Shadowhunters had showered and changed into clean clothes, one thing became very apparent about their spare clothing. 

“Where exactly do all these leather pants come from? Do you have a stash of them somewhere? Maybe some kind of agreement with a supplier?” Simon asked from his perch on the edge of the kitchen table, watching them closely. “How can you afford them all? Or does the money just appear out of some mutual Badass Fund?”

Isabelle looked like she wanted to slap the vampire punk and Alec rolled his eyes into the back of his head, but Jace chuckled. He had never really thought about the Shadowhunter gear that way, but they did wear and awful lot of black leather. 

“At least we don’t wear our underwear on the outside of our pants,” Jace said.

Simon’s eyes widened slightly as if he was surprised that a Shadowhunter would not only agree but joke with him about their weird wardrobe.

“Well,” Jace continued, sliding Simon a grin. “Where’s your red velvet brocade robe, vampire?”

Simon fought back a smile, but said, “That’s not funny.”

“It’s hilarious,” Jace said.

Luke entered the kitchen, freshly-shaved and smelling faintly of wet dog. He was wearing jeans and a flannel shirt with the sleeves rolled up, dressed for comfort rather than style. “Now, now,” he said. “Far be it for any of you to judge each other’s taste in clothing. You all look ridiculous.”

Simon plucked at his t-shirt in an embarrassed way. It was emblazoned with a heart with a stake driven through it. One of his human friends had gotten it for him as a joke, making fun of his recently nocturnal and vampiric habits—if only they knew just how close to the truth they really were. On a normal teenager, the shirt screamed ‘obsession,’ but on a real vampire, it was painfully ironic.

Clary came into the room soon after that with a yawn and a stretch. “Is there any coffee?” she asked.

Luke handed her a mug and gave another to Simon, hoping to steer them away from this clothing conversation. It worked to a degree. They stopped ragging on each other, but Isabelle made a disgusted sound deep in her chest when she saw that Clary was wearing one of Simon’s crappy t-shirts and a pair of his jeans rolled up nearly a foot. She was worse than swimming in them, she was straight-up drowning.

“I’ve got some clothes you can borrow, if you like,” Isabelle offered the girl.

“I’m okay,” Clary said and took a long drink of her coffee in a state of bliss. “I haven’t had my own clothes in weeks. I’m kind of getting used to it.”

“We should go shopping,” Isabelle said.

For a moment, Clary didn’t look like she knew what to say. Her throat flashed as she swallowed, as she breathed. Finally, she said, “That would be… nice.”

Isabelle smiled.

Soon afterwards, Luke began cooking breakfast and Clary went to help him. They stood at the stove together, frying bacon and breakfast meat respectively. Simon was manning the waffle iron, taking out each just at the perfect time with his bare fingers. Jace, Isabelle, and Alec all offered to help but there just wasn’t that much room at the counter even if the table could seat eight. Luke allowed them to set the table and pour out glasses of orange juice and then insisted they stay out of the way. Clary set out everything on the table as it finished and slid into a chair between Simon and Luke. Jace tried not to think about how he wished she had sat beside him and tried to look content between Alec and an empty chair. 

“Now, I’m sure we all have questions,” Luke said as he drizzled syrup over a golden waffle. “Let’s try to be organized about this and keep the shouting to a minimum. I’ll start.” He turned to Clary, put a heap of sausage links on her plate, and asked, “What exactly happened?”

“I have a better question,” Clary said smoothly as she picked up her fork. “Have you had any luck finding my mother?”

“Mother?” Isabelle and Alec asked in unison.

Luke shook his head slowly. “No,” he said. “I haven’t even heard anything.”

Clary turned to the trio of young Shadowhunters. “My mother is Jocelyn Fairchild.”

“Valentine’s wife?” Alec said, his eyes wide with shock, and his fork clattered from his hand.

Jace slid him a glance. “Alec, just think about that statement for a moment,” he said lamely. “Clary is Valentine’s daughter. What makes you think her mother wouldn’t be Valentine’s wife?” 

Alec flushed. “That wasn’t—”

“Anyway,” Jace said as he turned back to the rest of the table. “What do you mean ‘had any luck finding her’?”

“She’s missing,” Clary said plainly, “and has been for a few years. Valentine stole me from her when I was ten and I’ve been trying to get away from him ever since. A few years ago, she was apparently given a false lead to a place Valentine might have been keeping me and no one’s heard from her since.”

“Then you know Luke and Simon how?” Jace asked and took a bite of his waffle. They really were delicious.

Clary smiled warmly at the pair, nibbling a piece of bacon. “This is my mother’s coup. She started it years ago even before the Uprising and I lived here with her up until Valentine attacked us when I was ten. He stole me away and I haven’t been back here for years.”

“How did you know they would still be here when you brought me here last night?” Jace asked.

“I still manage to communicate with everyone in secret,” Clary said. “I tell them Valentine’s plans whenever I can and they tell me whatever good news there is. Simon will turn into a bat and come to visit me wherever I’m imprisoned.” 

“Clary was supposed to escape Valentine’s keep weeks ago,” Simon put in. “She was going to use the Five-Dimensional Door, but something went wrong.”

“Yes,” she said with a nod. “I think Valentine knew what I was planning and sabotaged the door somehow. It didn’t bring me to Central Park. Instead, I found myself in the Silent City in the middle of a Shadowhunter gathering. They beat the hell out of me and then brought me to your Institute.” She looked at Jace, her green eyes gleaming. “Simon couldn’t get into the Institute and since I was busy being tortured, I couldn’t send a message to them.”

“We thought you were dead, Clary,” Luke said and his voice was heavy with sadness.

“I would be,” she said quietly, “if not for Jace. He believed me when no one else did. He came after me at Renwick’s, otherwise Valentine would have killed me outright.”

Jace tamped down a blush. Usually, he was happy to hear about all his good qualities and the heroic feats he had accomplished, but now he found himself growing embarrassed. He had never been solely responsible for saving a single person’s life so completely. It was unlike anything he had ever felt before and it warmed him from the inside out. “It’s… it’s nothing,” he forced himself to say.

Clary smiled at him and then turned away. “Anyway, Luke, Hodge Starkweather is the one who took me to Valentine. Do you know him?”

Luke nodded, chewing deliberately. “There were rumors after the Uprising that he had been a part of Valentine’s Circle, but they were never proved and the Clave let him go.”

“Foolish,” Clary said and dug into the sausage Luke had put on her plate. “It seems he’s one of Valentine’s most loyal supporters, loyal enough to betray not only his Institute, but his…” she eyed Jace, Isabelle, and Alec without speaking, unable to find a word to describe what they had been to Hodge.

Luke swallowed. “Valentine has done worse to families,” he said bitterly.

Clary’s knuckles whitened around her fork, but she didn’t say anything.

“Can I ask a question?” Alec interrupted, his voice loud in the tense silence. 

“Sure,” Simon said, just as eager to break the awkward quiet that had spread over the table like a blanket of starving ants. 

“Are you the only members of this coup against Valentine Morgenstern?” Alec asked.

“No,” Simon said, leaning back in his chair and chewing a burnt strip of bacon. “Most of us are out searching for Jocelyn and Clary right now. A few others are seeking information on Valentine. I was going to contact them and tell them to come back, but they’re due here today anyway for a meeting.”

“Communication is key,” Luke put in. “We check in with each other every few days.”

“How many of you are there?” Alec asked. 

Simon and Luke exchanged a glance, both thinking deeply. Clary watched them, working her way through an egg.

“Maybe fifty or so,” Luke said finally.

“But we’re friends with a lot of warlocks and faeries. I think more than half of them will come to our aid if we need it,” Simon said.

“Any other questions?” Luke offered as he polished off the rest of the food on his plate. 

It was on the tip of Jace’s tongue to ask about the block in Clary’s mind, the block that was so powerful it had even managed to keep out the Silent Brothers, but at the last moment, he swallowed the words. He turned his attention back to his syrup-soaked waffle, listening absently to the breakfast conversation as it turned towards a less serious topic.

…

Clary was standing at the window when Jace finally caught up with her. For an abandoned police station, the place was surprisingly busy with all of its members coming and going, wanting to talk to Jace and thank or else threaten him and ask him questions. It also got a surprising amount of calls for Chinese food that Jace figured had something to do with the glamour hiding the building or maybe it had more to do with the fact that someone tended to fill the orders if they were bored. The food must have been good.

“Hey,” he said as he came to stand beside her.

She glanced at him, hitched Simon’s oversized t-shirt a little higher up on her naked shoulder, and said, “Hey yourself.”

“What are you doing?” he asked her.

“Waiting for a warlock.”

“A warlock? One of your coup members?”

She shook her head and tucked a strand of blood-red hair behind her ear. “No, I need someone to check out my body since that demon raped me,” she said plainly. “I’m not about to have little half-human half-demon babies running all over this place.”

Jace’s breath caught in his throat. She sounded so nonchalant about all this, as if it happened every day, and from what he had heard, it kind of did. “Clary,” he ventured, the words catching in his throat like shards of glass, “How many times have you been raped?”

She rolled her shoulders and the neck of her borrowed shirt slipped down to expose her shoulder. There were bruises there from when her shoulder had been dislocated during Hodge’s escape with her, dark and ugly against her pale freckled skin. “I don’t know,” she said blandly. “A few times.”

“You don’t know?” Jace asked.

She slid her green eyes to him and her gaze was like cutting glass. “Do you know how many times you’ve been injured by a demon, Jace?”

He balked, uncertain, and tried to think back. Finally, he said, “At least thirteen times this week,” trying to prove a point.

“I think I’ve been raped about…” she studied her fingers, her lips moving silently as she considered the events that had recently passed, “five times this week.”

“Five times?” Jace sputtered out, his entire body going cold with the thought. “This week?”

She nodded. “Yeah, well, you know…” She rolled her shoulders again, her sharp bones pressing against the fabric of the t-shirt with the motion. “Valentine just lets his monsters and his followers do whatever they want to me. It’s an occupational hazard. It’s no big deal. It’s just sex.”

“But Clary, don’t you think that sex should be… you know, special?”

She stared at him oddly and it occurred to Jace just how stupid his words must have sounded to her. He certainly felt like some brainless well-protected prince telling the princess who had been tortured by an evil queen that everything was going to be alright so long as she married him and allowed him to sweep her off to his distant castle where nothing bad ever happened. He stumbled over every thought in his head, unable to think of anything sensible to say in the wake of this painful blunder.

Clary continued to look at him and she finally spoke to break the awkward silence. “Do you think that, Jace?” Her voice was so small and soft, timid and fragile, that Jace had to tell her the truth. 

He nodded slightly. “I do,” he admitted.

“Are you a virgin?”

He shook his head, ringlets of gold hair tickling his cheeks.

She smiled a humorless little grin. “How charming,” she said coolly. “Was it special for you all the times you had sex?”

A scalding flush crept up Jace’s neck, but he had resolved to tell her the truth. “In its way,” he said. “I certainly made it special for anyone I brought to my bed.”

She tipped her head back and laughed loudly and he saw the pulse beating in her throat. “Aren’t you just so full of yourself?” she said between laughs. “Such a confident young man.”

“Clary,” he began, abruptly thinking of the time she had spent the night sleeping beside him with her hands cuffed to the headboard. 

She cut him off. “I’m not like you,” she said and there was no emotion in her words to help him understand what exactly she meant. “I’m nothing like you, Jace.”

Then, there was a knock at the door and Clary opened it as if eager to escape from this conversation and Jace couldn’t blame her. She began speaking to a person Jace only assumed was the warlock she had been waiting for. She told him with painful nonchalance about how the demon had raped her and she wanted to be certain she wasn’t pregnant and the warlock just nodded, looking shocked. Jace wondered what Clary had told the warlock when she contacted him.

Though Jace bid farewell to Clary, saying he’d catch her later, she didn’t turn to look at him and didn’t even wave over her shoulder.

X X X

(1) When faced with vampire-related issues, I always turn to Bram Stoker’s Dracula because he’s really the one who put vampires on the map for most of us. That said, in Dracula, vampires are weakened during the daylight hours, but Dracula is actually not vulnerable to sunlight. (This is also true in Anne Rice’s novels, except the older her vampires are, the more durable they are. Young ones, not so much.) Upon learning that, I did a little research into vampires in all sorts of cultures and religions and vampires are not vulnerable to sunlight in any other place either. This weakness appears to be added on somewhere along the lines of the legend. Interesting, right?

(Continued) All that said, I’m going to be toning down Simon’s vulnerability to daylight severely but not getting rid of it altogether because I kind of like the sunlight thing. (It makes more sense to me than garlic does, so…) In my story, vampires will only be vulnerable to direct sunlight. They can slink around during the day under an umbrella with a big hat and sunglasses on and not burst into sudden flames. Now, if sunlight touches them directly, that’s a whole other story—severe burns, but not instant death. 

Questions, comments, concerns?

HAPPY THANKSGIVING!


	23. Words in the Night

Phew, has it ever been a busy holiday for me! The Mortal Instruments movie comes out on DVD tomorrow so I’m excited for that, too.

X X X

Sometime after lunch, Luke decided it would be best to take the trio of young Shadowhunters, Clarissa Morgenstern, and the painfully insistent vampire Simon home with him. It was a little too much now that all the coup members had returned and Luke had a small house connected to an adjoining bookshop that he ran when he wasn’t busy organizing a rebellion against the Downworlder’s greatest foe. Clary spoke of Luke’s house with a lot of glowing words, but she said ‘home’ as if she didn’t know the true meaning. She said it a lot like ‘house.’

Though Jace tried to talk to her as they gathered up their belongings and then again when they were sitting together in the bed of Luke’s battered pickup. (The cab was only large enough to seat three. Luke, Alec, and Isabelle sat inside and Simon would join them after night fell.) She ignored him studiously, always finding her fingernails or a loose string on her shirt infinitely more fascinating than anything he had to say. Jace couldn’t particularly blame her, but he hated to be ignored.

Once they arrived at Luke’s house, Clary spent the rest of the afternoon and much of the night avoiding Jace. She spent a great deal of time with Isabelle and Luke, even chatting with Alec a few times. When Simon arrived at dusk—flying through the house as a bat so he wouldn’t be naked at the front door—Clary fastened herself to him like Velcro. She still wouldn’t so much as look at Jace. Dejected, Jace wandered the endless shelves of Luke’s bookstore, letting his fingers graze over the spines lightly.

“See anything you like?” Luke’s voice rang out of seemingly nowhere.

Startled, Jace looked around, but still didn’t see the older werewolf.

Luke peered around a massive shelf, a stack of dusty volumes in his hands. “I’m over here.”

Jace turned to face him. “What are you doing? Spying on me?”

Luke chuckled. “You’re not that interesting—certainly not interesting enough to spy on,” he said.

Jace’s ears burned hotly. “Shut—”

“No need for that now,” Luke said and handed Jace a stack of books to occupy his hands. “I was a Shadowhunter once, before I was changed, so you’re not that interesting to me. Simon, on the other hand, would probably find you quite interesting. He’s always thought of Shadowhunters as being like the heroes in one of his favorite games.”

Jace stared down at the dusty books in his hands, tracing the gilded covers with a fingertip. It was quiet in the bookstore and he could hear only the beating of his own heart and the sound of Luke’s breathing. “Did Valentine hurt you, too?” he asked softly.

Luke’s eyes were sad and his hair was shot through with grey even though his face was quite youthful. That was answer enough.

“Never mind,” Jace whispered.

Luke placed a hand on his shoulder. “You’re an old soul and I mean that as a compliment. You’re very wise, Jace,” he said kindly. “Tell me… did you try to impart some of that wisdom on Clary?” 

Jace nodded.

“Clary is like a daughter to me,” Luke said. “I watched her grow up, but after Valentine stole her, everything changed. Jocelyn grew different, manic, obsessed with finding her child. And who could blame her? She raced off blindly in search of Clary, didn’t even tell me where she was going, and then she disappeared. I’m not sure exactly when Simon managed to find Clary, but it was after Jocelyn went missing and Clary had changed drastically too. The little girl that was so loving and much loved is gone. Valentine has… damaged her…” 

Silence spread between them.

“Tell me, what did you talk about?” Luke asked.

“Sex,” Jace confessed and was surprised to find it wasn’t as awkward as he had expected to admit that.

Luke nodded and his frown deepened. “Simon and I have both tried to talk to Clary about that, about the rapes, but she doesn’t listen. She believes firmly that sex is only sex, no matter if she bleeds or enjoys it. I suspect that is something Valentine instilled in her. Her entire being is a meager instrument to him and her body is nothing but a tool to her.” Luke took a breath. “Sometimes I wonder if the emotions she shows me are real or if she’s been…” He trailed off, eyes glassy with sadness.

A long moment of silence spread between them like fog, each filled with their owns doubts and concerns. 

“How many times has she been raped?” Jace asked finally before the silence became too overwhelming. 

Luke took the books from Jace, beginning to shelve them. “Did she tell you something?” 

“At least five times… this week…”

Luke hissed in a jagged breath, slamming books into place harshly. “She’d never give me a number,” he muttered.

Jace bit his lip. He was about to ask Luke about the block the Silent Brothers had found in Clary’s mind when the door to the bookshop opened and Isabelle called them in for dinner. The moment passed by as Luke turned away and Jace, once again, let it go.

…

Luke’s house was only a two bedroom place, but it had a rather large living room and a home office that was littered with more books. Luke wasn’t going to give up his bedroom unless something drastic happened so Clary took the spare bedroom, closing the door tightly at her back as if she wanted to keep out even air. Isabelle and Alec made themselves comfortable in the living room, spreading out like cats on the twin couches, while Jace settled himself in the office on a pallet of folded blankets in lieu of an air-mattress. 

Simon was going out to prowl the night and see what the other vampires knew about Valentine’s activities. (He was apparently the only vampire in the coup and therefore the only one who could get that information.) He told Luke that he would just take a nap during the day and not to worry about him. With everyone’s sleeping arrangements figured out, they bid each other goodnight and settled in (or left in Simon’s case). 

It was a cool deep night, cloudless with a bright moon almost at its peak and countless bright stars. The house was quiet, still, as if it were also sleeping. The books seemed to breathe, their voices whispering of the tales that lived inside them.

It felt very late when the door to the office eased open, but Jace couldn’t be certain. He lay still, watching the lithe shadow spread across the carpet. He had sensed her approach, sensed her Morgenstern blood riddled with more angelic blood and pain than was natural, just as he had the first night she had been brought to the Institute in the middle of the night. Clary was wearing an oversized t-shirt and her bare legs shone in the faint moonlight filtering between the slats in the blinds. Her blood-colored hair tumbled in waves over her shoulders and breasts.

“Clary,” he whispered.

She hushed him and knelt down beside the bed he had fashioned for himself. She lifted the coverlet and slipped in beside him. Jace suddenly wished he had chosen to wear more than just his pajama bottoms, but it was too late for that now. Clary’s hand pressed to his bare chest, right over his heart. Her fingertips rested on his collarbone and she gently began to caress the scarred skin she found there, raising goose bumps all over his body. He wondered if she could feel the runes carved into his skin before she spooned flush against his side, her breasts soft on his arm, and she was so warm.

“Clary,” he protested again.

Once more, she hushed him and rolled so that she lay nearly on top of him. Her breasts spilled over the neck of Simon’s borrowed t-shirt, lightly dusted with freckles, and he could feel the hard peaks of her nipples against his bare skin. She smelled nice like flowers, the damp stone of a dungeon, soap, and something distinctly her. Her blood-colored hair whispered against his cheeks, tickled his neck, and fell in waves against her throat. Despite himself, despite everything he knew and didn’t know about her, Jace felt his body begin to stir with interest. 

“Clary,” he said a third time. 

He lifted his hands to push her away, but his fingers seemed to have other plans. They trailed through her soft hair before pressing tightly against her back. She leaned into his chest, shifting her body so that she was straddling his waist. Her thighs were thin and strong, tightening over his hips as she pressed herself down against him. The heat of her body soaked into his skin, seeping through his thin cotton pants, and focusing into a part of him that was already hot enough.

“Clary,” he whispered, but he wasn’t sure what he was trying to say to her anymore.

She pressed down deliberately on the aching shaft of him, rocking her hips. Jace’s hands wandered her back, reaching to cup her behind, and he realized that she wasn’t wearing any panties beneath the borrowed shirt. Her skin was soft and warm, but still peppered with healing injuries just above her buttocks. She pushed back against his hands, rubbing against him eagerly. He ran his fingers down her thighs, feeling the quiver of her muscles as he touched her. She made a soft sound deep in her chest, so quiet that he barely heard it. 

“Clary,” he murmured.

He lifted a hand to her cheek, cupping her face tenderly, and angled her chin towards him. She melted into his embrace as he pressed a kiss to her lips. Despite everything he knew he should and shouldn’t be doing with Valentine Morgenstern’s daughter, he couldn’t help it. His hands and lips had minds of their own and they acted as if they had never touched a girl before. Almost clumsily, with all the caution and tenderness he could muster, he ran his hands down her sides. She trembled like a bird in his arms, little quiet noises escaping her.

“Show me,” she whispered into his mouth. “Show me how it should be.”

His lips parted beneath hers, tongue grazing her lower lip gently. Again, she made that little soft sound deep in her chest, not quite a moan and not nearly a whimper. Her hands pressed to his chest, fingers curling against his warm flesh. Then, she opened her mouth, welcoming him inside, and she tasted like toothpaste. Her teeth scraped against his lips hungrily, as if she wanted to draw him into herself, as if she was seeking to devour him. She was Morgenstern’s daughter, after all.

“Clary,” he said.

“Show me, Jace,” she murmured. “Show me how sex should be.”

Then, she broke the kiss and leaned back so that her warm sex rubbed against him through his pajamas. She peeled Simon’s borrowed t-shirt off over her head in a rain of tousled blood-red curls and for a moment it looked as if the skewered heart emblazoned on the shirt was branded on her skin. Her naked breasts gleamed in the moonlight, dusted with freckles. Though Jace had seen them before when she was naked in the dungeon, it felt like something totally new. He noticed a scar circling her nipple—it looked almost like a bite mark. 

She leaned down to kiss him again, bare skin brushing sensually against his, and Jace completely forgot what he was thinking about the scars on her. Her body was totally bare beneath his hands and she rocked her hips deliberately against his, opening her mouth wide into his kiss. He cupped her soft breasts, thumbs brushing over the peaks of her rosy nipples. She made a little sound, lifting a hand to sweep back her hair to bare her skin further. His mouth found the sensitive place on the side of her throat, nipping there expertly. 

Jace pulled her tight against him, lifting his hips to thrust against her despite the barrier of his clothes still between them. She made another soft inscrutable sound, nipping his lower lip. He ran his hands down her back, cupping her buttocks and moving towards her very core. He could already feel the heat of her and his erection became increasingly painful, throbbing in time with his heartbeat. He could feel the beat of her heart where their chests were pressed together, thundering like the rataplan of a drum. Her thighs quivered, fingers knotting against his chest. 

Jace fumbled at the waistband of his pajamas, eager to the point of pain.

Then, her voice coming through his arousal like an arrow piercing his armor, she whispered, “Rape me.”

Jace woke with a start, alone on the pallet of blankets in Luke’s home office. There was pale pre-dawn sunlight peeking through the slats of the blinds and an uncomfortable tightness between his legs. He rolled over and tried to will it away, but his mind kept filling with images of Clary’s naked body so willing in his arms. But those words…

‘Rape me.’

It was horrible. He recalled the scars he had seen on her breasts and felt on the insides of her thighs—and this had only been his dream. Only the Angel knew what her body really looked like after all the abuses it had suffered. Healing runes could only do so much and they did nothing to heal the mind. His fingers went to the faint scar on his throat though it was only of the rune that had saved him and nothing of Valentine’s attempt on his life.

‘Rape me.’

He let his breath out in rush and rolled over, mashing his face into his pillow. For a long moment, he concentrated on the smell of the pillow which was scented faintly with wet dog and lavender, a weird combination. Then, he focused on the burn in his lungs from not taking in a substantial breath and forced himself to endure it. Finally, he counted backwards from one hundred which was a little harder to do than it should have been. When he finally rolled onto his back again, his body had calmed enough to the point that he could go back to sleep.

X X X

Boo… How many of you thought you were getting a lemon? Ha! Fooled some of you!

Questions, comments, concerns?


	24. The Institute's Doorbell

It’s cold and it’s raining… Yuhck!

X X X

When Jace creaked his way off the floor the next morning and came out to the kitchen in search of coffee, Alec informed him that Isabelle and Clary had gone shopping for new clothes. Whether stupidly or pathetically, Jace’s first thought was that Clary wasn’t wearing panties under whatever clothing she had borrowed from Simon or Luke. Despite the weird lives of Shadowhunters and Downworlders alike, no one kept spares panties on hand just in case Valentine Morgenstern’s daughter showed up mostly naked with a trio of Shadowhunters in the middle of the night.

“Jace?” Alec asked, sounding annoyed as if he had been repeating himself for a while.

Jace shook himself, forcing his eyes to focus on his friend. “Yeah?”

“Are you listening to me?”

“Sure…” Jace said, but it sounded more like a question.

Alec rolled his eyes so far back into his head that he must have been able to see behind him. “I asked you, ‘What do you think of Clary?’ What do you think of all of this, Jace?”

Jace took a sip of his coffee and added some sugar. “It’s strange to think that Valentine’s daughter is leading a coup to oppose him,” he admitted. “It’s weird that the Clave hasn’t heard about any of this either. An entire organization of Downworlders, a vampire getting along with werewolves, all of this… Why didn’t they know about it?”

“Maybe they don’t care,” Alec suggested. Then, he considered everything for a moment and added thoughtfully, “Or maybe it’s just that we didn’t know. We are kind of low on the Shadowhunter totem pole. Higher ups might have known. Hodge might have known…”

Silence stretched between the two parabatai. 

Hodge… Their mentor—the man who had practically raised them—had betrayed them. He had stolen Clary from the Institute’s dungeon in the middle of the night, returning her to Valentine and an apparent death. He had played on Jace’s confusion over Clary’s allegiances and his kind heart, forcing him to be an unwilling aide in his escape. His betrayal cut deep and raw. Jace, Alec, and Isabelle had all been careful not to mention it since it had happened and that had been easy at first with the rescue mission looming over them. But now, there was a moment to breathe and a moment for the wound to hurt again.

“We should get back to the Institute,” Alec said to break the silence. His voice was thin. “It’s totally empty right now.”

Alec, Isabelle, Hodge, and Jace had been the only Shadowhunters in the entire New York Institute which had always seemed a little strange considering how large New York City was. If something happened, they were the force that responded. Pandemonium could be destroying the city at this very moment and no one was at the Institute to deal with it.

Jace nodded. “You’re right. We’ll leave as soon as Clary and Isabelle get back.”

“They’re shopping in New York,” Alec muttered. “That could be hours from now.”

Jace chuckled. 

Silence descended on them again like a cloak, heavy and thick yet the cold wind blew right through it. A bad feeling crept up the back of Jace’s neck, as if someone was watching him, but the kitchen was very empty and quiet. It was disturbed only by the humming of the refrigerator and the distant sounds of traffic and day-to-day human life. Even the books had ceased their whispering. 

Alec suddenly looked nervous and he leaned towards Jace conspiratorially. “What are we going to do about Clary, Jace?” he asked. “I don’t think the werewolf and vampire are just going to let us take her back with us and lock her up in the Institute’s dungeon.”

“I’m not sure we should anyway,” Jace admitted quietly. “Valentine obviously knew we had her. That Portal opened up right in the cell’s wall.” Jace paused, staring into his coffee mug. “Hodge knows all the secret ways to get in, too, and we can’t keep him out. He’s still a Shadowhunter…”

The words that needed to be said hung in the air like poisonous spiders suspended from a sticky web. Neither of them wanted to say it, just as they didn’t want to speak of Hodge’s painful betrayal. 

“We have to tell the Clave about Hodge,” Alec said finally because he had always been stronger than Jace when it came to matters like this. Jace suspected it was because the Lightwood parents had vanished after the Uprising and Alec was painfully realistic. He knew they were either dead or had abandoned their children—he held out no hope for their loving return like Isabelle did—and for that reason, the anniversary of their disappearance was always harder on him.

Jace didn’t protest, but he didn’t have to like it. “I know,” he said. “We can probably talk to the Silent Brothers. I bet they’re wondering what happened and why the Institute is empty and Valentine’s daughter is gone. They might even be waiting for us.”

“Or they might have put new Shadowhunters in our Institute and given us up for dead,” Alec said sourly.

Jace tried not to think about that and clapped Alec on the shoulder. “Then, we’ve decided?”

“Yeah,” Alec muttered. “As soon as Isabelle gets back from her shopping spree.”

“This is New York City,” Jace repeated with a grin, “That could be hours from now.”

Alec snorted a laugh.

…

Simon scurried across Luke’s hideous bedroom carpet and hunkered in the shadows out of reach of the painful slats of sunlight. At first, he squeaked at Luke as if the werewolf could understand the sounds a rat made before realizing this was not the case. (Luke was staring at him oddly and Simon was so accustomed to his different forms that he sometimes forgot about them.) Then, he allowed his shape to morph and change, his bones cracking and pulling painfully due to the hour of the day. It was easier to change shape at night and downright impossible at high noon. (1)

Luke was sitting on his bed, the television casting blue light across his features so that the wolf in him was very apparent. He watched Simon heave himself from the form of a rat into the shape of a human boy again. Since he was crouched naked on the carpet, Luke took a robe from the closet and handed it to the vampire.

“Thanks,” Simon said and pulled it on. He wasn’t very concerned with his nudity under normal circumstances and rather enjoyed embarrassing that female Shadowhunter, Isabelle, but no matter how close he and Luke had become over the past few years, he felt painfully vulnerable to be naked in the werewolf’s presence. Maybe it was some of the lingering hatred that was built right into vampires’ and werewolves’ very bloodstream.

“What did you hear?” Luke asked, giving Simon a little nod. 

“They’re not going to try to take Clary back with them,” Simon said, “and it sounds like things aren’t as well with the Clave as they’d like to think.”

“How so?”

“The Clave seems to have no idea this coup even exists.”

Luke studied the droning television for a moment. “Was that all they said, Simon?”

The vampire nodded. “They seem to have told us the complete truth yesterday, right down to Hodge betraying them. They seem pretty broken up about it,” he said.

“It’s a hard thing for any child to be betrayed,” Luke said, “especially by someone they love.”

“Like Clary?” Simon asked.

Luke didn’t answer. Instead, he said, “You’ve done a good job, Simon. Why don’t you get some rest?”

Though Simon wanted to protest and spy on the trio of Shadowhunters for a little while longer, he knew Luke was right. Even though he was already technically dead, he still needed fresh blood and a little rest in order for his body to function properly and he hadn’t had any in a while. Luke had bought some animal’s blood from the butcher downtown and Clary had made up the bed for him. Simon nodded, knotted the robe a little tighter around his waist, bid Luke ‘good night-morning,’ and went to the spare room to get some sleep.

…

It was Saturday morning and the New York streets were crowded with people. The pigeons nearly outnumbered the people, fluttering hither and thither in stinking flocks. Isabelle waved her arms in a terrible imitation of the pigeons flying in the hopes that they would get the heck away from her. The pigeons were rather unperturbed and Isabelle only succeeded in attracting attention from all the other people on the street. Clary giggled softly behind the fan of her fingers.

“Very amusing for you,” Isabelle scoffed, kicking at a heap of feathers irritably. “You must be a native New Yorker.”

“You could say that,” Clary said and it was the closest she had come to sharing anything about herself.

Isabelle glanced at the girl, studying Valentine Morgenstern’s daughter in the morning light. The sun was shining through Clary’s blood-colored hair, lighting it up in a wispy halo of flame-red tresses blown by the wind. Her eyes were a bright almost-radioactive green like spring grass and they were aged like those of an older Shadowhunter who had seen terrible combat and lost loved ones. Her skin was pale, freckled in places and marked with scars in others. Her lips were chapped and there were dark circles beneath her eyes, yet she was still a strange sort of beautiful.

“Thank you, I think,” Clary said suddenly.

With a jolt, Isabelle realized that she had spoken aloud. She flushed hotly and muttered, “Sorry.”

“For what?” Clary asked. “For paying me a compliment?”

Isabelle started to nod, but noticed that Clary’s expression was oddly crestfallen. Instead, she shook her head and said, “No, I mean, it must have been weird to get a compliment out of the blue like that. Especially from another girl.”

Clary’s lips twisted into a sad smile. “Any compliment is welcome, from anyone, at anytime.”

For a moment, Isabelle was reminded heartbreakingly of Jace. When she had first met him soon after his parents’ brutal murder, he was a mere shell of child. She remembered him screaming with horrific nightmares at night, but he always denied anyone who wanted to comfort him. He appeared to think that showing none of his emotions would make him stronger. Within a few weeks, Jace came to learn that Valentine Morgenstern was his parents’ murderer and he found a sinister purpose for his life—to make Valentine pay. 

But Isabelle sometimes still saw the terribly broken boy who had been brought to her home with a healing rune carved deep enough into his neck to leave a painful scar. Jace hid all his hatred for Valentine, rage for his parents murder, and terrible self-loathing behind an arrogant exterior. Jace would never admit to anyone that he was sad or hurting. He would never admit that he still had nightmares even if Isabelle and Alec knew. He hid himself completely behind stone walls, only allowing glimpses of how he really felt inside.

It appeared that Clary was just the same.

“What?” Clary said suddenly again.

For a moment, Isabelle thought she had spoken her thoughts out loud again but realized she was merely staring hard at Clary. “Nothing,” she said and forced a smile. “It’s nothing. What do you say we go in here to get you some new clothes?”

Clary eyed the window display with something akin to suspicion, but nodded. 

…

As Jace and Alec had predicted, it took Isabelle and Clary ninety-eight percent of the day to shop, but that was to be expected when one lived in New York City. They returned home laden with shopping bags, smelling of something delicious, and giggling like little schoolgirls. 

It looked as if they had gone to a beauty salon. Clary’s tangled red tresses had been trimmed neatly and slightly curled around her face. Isabelle had always been good at picking out clothes and she had obviously chosen most of Clary’s new wardrobe. The girl was wearing close-fitting jeans that had been embroidered with butterflies and a violet t-shirt that clung to the shape of her breasts and flat stomach. Her flame-red hair glimmered in the evening light as the sun sank below the horizon, catching her green eyes like jewels in a windowsill. Valentine Morgenstern’s daughter or not, she really was beautiful.

“Jace,” Isabelle said plainly. “Close our mouth before you catch flies.”

Alec chuckled and took a step away to prevent Jace from smacking him since he couldn’t very well smack Isabelle.

Jace’s teeth snapped together with an audible clack and he slid Isabelle a withering look. 

She ignored him and handed Alec a few of her bags. “These are to replace some of the clothes I lost in the attack on the Institute,” she told him before he could comment.

Alec peered into one of the bags he had been handed and he must have seen something unpleasantly frilly because he quickly closed it and stuffed it back into Isabelle’s hands. She laughed, her head tipping back in a cascade of loose dark curls. Jace shook his head at their antics, holding out his hand to take Isabelle’s bags, but Clary handed him one instead. He glanced at her, his lips parting to speak, but her lightly-freckled cheeks were tinged pink and he suddenly wondered what she had handed him.

“It’s just a shirt,” she said with a thin smile. “The one you let me borrow was ruined with all the blood so I got you a new one.”

“Thanks,” he said, “but you didn’t have to.”

Her green eyes looks like deep pools. “I wanted to,” she murmured. “You’ve been kind to me. You saved my life.”

Jace didn’t know what to say. He just stood there, holding the bag she had given him, distantly listening to Alec and Isabelle’s chatter.

Clary reached out, her fingers ghosting over his knuckles. Her skin felt cool, almost cold, but soft. Her ragged fingernails had been filed and her fingers were long and slim though her wrists were still circled with bruises from the shackles. Her palm was cast in shadow and Jace thought he saw the shape of something carved into her skin, but it was only there a moment. He must have imagined it, beguiled by the scent of her skin and hair. 

“Jace,” she murmured.

But then Luke and Simon entered the room noisily. Simon immediately slid over to Jace and Clary, talking animatedly to both of them, while Luke spoke with Isabelle and Alec about their plans to return to the Institute that night. Whatever Clary was going to say fell into the vast abyss between them.

…

Night had fallen, too brightly-lit for either of their tastes as the full moon was just beginning to creep over the horizon. The stars twinkled like bright and watchful eyes hanging in the inky hellishness of heaven above. In the distance, there was the baying of young werewolves intermingled with the mundane sounds of barking dogs and yowling cats. A cold breeze was blowing off the river, bringing with it the smell of muck, garbage, and decay. It was silent save the chirping of crickets and the soft scheming tone of the two speakers in the dark.

“Yes, Father,” the first murmured in a thin voice.

“He’s still alive,” the second said, continuing from what he had already stated. 

“Does it change anything, Father?”

“No,” the second voice said coldly. “If he gets in the way, I want you to remove him. Remove them both if you have to. He’s no use to me.”

“Yes, Father.”

“Or make him obedient to you. Use him, if you can.”

There was silence as the first speaker nodded in agreement. 

“You know what you must do,” the second voice added. “Accomplish it or you will not like what I will do to you.”

The first voice was thin and brittle as it said, “Yes, Father.”

“Good,” the second said. “Now, go.”

…

A little while after night had fallen and the sway of the moon had stopped calling so loudly, Luke was kind enough to drop the trio of young Shadowhunters off at their Institute (This time, Alec rode in the back of the pickup so Jace and Isabelle could share the cab.) while Clary remained at the bookshop and Simon went off to do whatever it was vampires did at night. The big building looked painfully deserted, the many windows dark and empty, and it suddenly looked very much like a prison or other bad place.

“You’re sure you’ll be alright?” Luke asked. His voice was kind with the affection of an adult who loved children but had none of their own. “You can always come back to my house or the coup’s base if you need to. You’ll be welcomed, if you need it.”

“We’ll be fine,” Jace said, even if he wasn’t so certain. What would the Institute be like without Hodge and Hugo waiting for them inside? It already felt emptier, lonelier, darker… and they hadn’t even gotten out of Luke’s battered truck yet.

“Thank you for everything,” Isabelle said. “I gave Clary our phone numbers, in case something happens.”

Luke nodded. “Simon has a phone. If something comes up, we’ll let you know.”

“We will do the same,” Alec said once he had climbed out of the bed of the truck and circled to the driver’s side window. 

Jace opened the door and stepped out, his rucksack slung over his shoulder and his hands full of Isabelle’s purchases. They stood together on the curb and watched Luke drive away into the brightly-lit night. New York was still wakeful, buzzing with activity, and yet the street felt more vacant than ever.

“We have to go in eventually,” Alec said. 

Jace nodded, but still didn’t move towards the door. After his parents’ murder and with no other living relatives, Hodge had been the closest thing Jace had to a parent. He still remembered the cruelty in Hodge’s face as he forced Jace to choose whether to let Clary be maimed or not. He still heard the words mocking him for his kind heart echoing in his head like a broken gramophone. How could Hodge have betrayed them like this? How could he betray Jace? Even with all his kindness, raising the trio of abandoned children like his own, had he always planned to betray them?

“Jace,” Isabelle said and her fingers were warm where they wrapped around his elbow.

“We still have each other,” Alec said and the rune that bound them as parabatai shone like a beacon on his skin.

Jace nodded. “Yeah,” he agreed.

Then, the trio of young Shadowhunters made their way into the New York Institute. It was very much the same, still a little disastrous from the invasion, but otherwise homey. There was no sign of the Silent Brothers or any members of the Clave. Relieved, Isabelle turned on a few lights and some music. Alec started pulling things out of the fridge. Church came to greet them after a few minutes, meowing for food and attention which they all gave him eagerly. Yes, Hodge was gone, but the Institute was still standing and so were they.

“Goodnight,” Jace said to Isabelle and Alec when they parted in the upstairs hallway outside their rooms. Church was standing at Jace’s ankles, trying very hard to trip him up, so Jace let he cat in with him.

“Night,” Alec offered.

“Sleep tight,” Isabelle finished with a smile.

Jace closed his door softly, bending down to pick up Church and then depositing the cat on his bed. It was nice to be home, back in his own room, back in his own bed. He took some clean pajamas out of the drawer, stood under the shower until he felt half-cooked and totally relaxed, and then crawled into bed. Church snuggled against him, purring and warm, and Jace was asleep within minutes. He was just beginning to dream when a harsh tolling sound rang through the Institute.

X X X

(1) This is also something from the original Dracula legend. 

Questions, comments, concerns?


	25. Bound to Get Burned

I loathe doorbells that ring in the middle of the night… or in the middle of the day. I just hate doorbells.

X X X

Jace came fully awake with a start when the sound rocked through the Institute again. It was the doorbell, tolling as loudly as an old-fashioned brass bell. It sounded like something that should be rung by a little hunchbacked man in the bell tower of Notre Dame, but then again, Jace had never actually seen the Institute’s doorbell so he couldn’t rule it out. He threw back the covers, disturbed Church, grabbed a Seraph blade from his nightstand, and ran out into the hall just in time to collide with Alec.

Alec’s face was pale, apprehension marring his features like a scar. Jace wondered if his expression was just the same. Isabelle’s certainly was as she joined them in the hallway in a satin robe and carrying her whip. After everything that had happened, who knew who was ringing the Institute’s doorbell at this outrageous hour? Any Shadowhunter could get in with the passwords, but the Institute was locked against Downworlders and demons. But the locks hadn’t proved to keep out demons in recent days.

One thought blazed forefront in Jace’s mind, throbbing like a half-healed wound inside him—Valentine Morgenstern.

“Be careful,” Alec said as if he sensed Jace’s thoughts.

When they skidded into the foyer together, Alec held back with Isabelle as Jace approached the door with his weapon drawn. The blade gleamed with its own light, illuminating Jace’s face as he reached for the knob. He hesitated, glancing over his shoulder at Alec and Isabelle, waiting for their nod of assent. The doorbell rang again, so loud that it rattled Jace’s teeth. Then there was a sudden horrible sound and flames licked at the edges of the door.

With a quick downward jerk of his chin to signal his intentions, Jace threw the door open and quickly leaped aside in the wave of flames that followed. Isabelle’s whip lashed out with a crack and then Alec was shouting something. Jace rolled into a crouch, brandishing his blade, and saw a pale flash of bare skin and blood. Then, a demon surged into the foyer of the Institute, drawing with it all the flames of hell, and Jace suddenly wished he had put on shoes before he left his room.

Alec raced to Jace’s side, stomping out the tongues of fire with his slippers. He bodily grabbed barefoot Jace up under his arm and lifted him from the circle of flames. Isabelle’s whip flashed again like a bolt of white lightning, refracting the bright moonlight, and snared around the demon’s throat. It howled in agony, flames tearing from its mouth and eyes like blood. Jace, though he was still hanging beneath Alec’s arm, gripped his Seraph blade by the tip and hurled it into the demon’s exposed face. It sank in deeply, blazing in the hellish flames. 

Then, all at once, the fire went out and it was pitch-dark.

The sounds were heightened in the darkness. There was the sound of crackling flames, of screaming demons, of hell itself. Isabelle’s footsteps were loud in the dark since she had pulled on boots before joining them in the hallway. Alec’s slippered feet whispered on the ash-coated floor as he moved towards her blindly. Jace squirmed out of Alec’s grasp, his bare feet crunching painfully on the charred cinders. Then, they heard a familiar voice, screaming in the night.

Jace pulled a witchlight from his pocket, grabbed the Seraph blade from the remains of the demon’s carcass, and hurried to the doorway. Isabelle and Alec were on his heels. For a moment, Alec’s fingers snared at Jace’s bare elbow, trying to stop him from walking across the still-burning embers in his bare feet. But Jace saw a horde of demons on the Institute’s flaming lawn and at the center of the debacle was Clary. She was holding up her hand, light blazing from it, but she didn’t look prepared for a fight. 

Without a second thought, Jace raced over the bed of cinders and charged through the circle of demons, slashing left and right. Tongues of fire burned his arms and caught on his loose pajamas. He slapped a few small fires out quickly. His feet screamed in pain as the embers seared deeply into him, but there was no choice right now. He would have to depend on runes to heal him and just focus on the matter at hand. Clary’s hand blazed with its own fire, chasing away the demons so she could move towards him.

“What happened?” Jace shouted to her.

She fell in beside him, her hand searing like flames, and didn’t answer.

A demon leaped at them and Jace screamed power into the angel blade in his hand. It flashed, blazing with its own personal sun, and he gutted the demon in one swift slash. Blood splattered down on them both and the carcass fell with a loud thump, extinguishing some nearby flames. Alec and Isabelle came up at Jace’s flanks, covering his blind sides from the other demons. They were a team and they worked together perfectly, perfect trust and strength drawn from each other. Clary held her own and kept out of the way. Within moments, the demons were either dead or fleeing. 

“Get back in the Institute,” Alec said harshly. He hooked Jace by the elbow, half-dragging him back up the steps. 

Jace was limping, the bad burns on his feet finally catching up with him.

Isabelle herded Clary after them, closing the door at their backs and turning on the sprinklers to douse the fire consuming the Institute’s dry lawn. Alec dumped Jace onto the shredded Victorian sofa that still needed to be reupholstered, grabbed a fistful of his pajama pants, and lifted up his leg so he could look at the bottom of his feet. They were badly burned, bleeding and charred in many places. The fact that he had run across the burning lawn hadn’t helped any either. Grass, dirt, and ashes were stuck hideously to the blistered skin. Small jagged rocks had stabbed deeply into the ruined flesh.

“By the Angel, Jace,” Alec hissed. He held out his hand to Isabelle. “Stele, Izzy. Give me yours.”

But she was wearing a satin robe over her skimpy pajamas and didn’t even have any pockets. “It’s in my room,” she said. “I’ll go get it.”

“How bad is it?” Jace asked, watching the banner of Isabelle’s flying dark hair as she hurried upstairs. He had never seen her run so fast.

“Could be worse,” Alec said, but the paleness in his cheeks gave him away. His face was practically bloodless, his eyes wide with horror.

Wincing, Jace pulled one foot free of Alec’s gentle grasp so he could peer at the bottom of it. Even as he moved, the seared skin cracked and began to bleed. He could see whiteness beyond the hideous dark burns and blood. Were those his bones? Abruptly, white-hot pain raced through his legs and into his head like a solid blow from a hammer. He wanted to curse, but couldn’t find the energy. His vision swam and he abruptly felt sick. He slumped against the arm of the couch, gasping for breath.

“Isabelle!” Alec shouted. “He’s going into shock! Hurry up!”

“Let me,” Clary said in a soft voice. 

She gently guided Alec aside and knelt at Jace’s feet without a care for the blood that had pooled there. Her hand gleamed, the glow was similar to that of a witchlight but also like nothing Alec had never seen. The glow was strange, so strange, that Alec couldn’t help but stare. Jace was watching too, his golden eyes catching the weird light. His face was pale, but the light seemed to bring something back into it. He looked calmer, as if the pain was leaving him, and Alec saw his shoulders relax slowly.

“It’s alright,” Clary murmured and her voice was hypnotic.

The white plane of her face swam in and out of focus. She was smiling at Jace and it appeared to be all teeth, then it was sad and soft, full of kindness and pity. Her eyes slid between spring green and deep dark black. Her hair looked alternately like rubies and old blood. Jace stared at her, captivated, unable to decide between fear and pain or calm and tired. Clary whispered something again, but the words didn’t reach him and he heard only the melodic drone of her voice. Her hand moved, passing over him like a moon moving too fast.

Alec was staring at her too, but when Jace would ask him about what had happened later, he would say that he had seen only Clary—nothing of what Jace described.

Isabelle skidded into the room. “I have it!” 

Clary’s strange light went out sharply, like a silver fish diving into deeper water. 

“How is he?” she asked Alec, kneeling beside him.

Alec stared for a moment, uncomprehending, until Isabelle shook him harshly and shouted his name. Jace was slumped against the arm of the couch, his golden eyes fixed on Clary. He didn’t look ill anymore or even like he was in pain. The set of his shoulders was calm, the pulse beating evenly in his throat, and his eyes heavy with exhaustion.

“Jace?” Alec asked.

Clary reached across Alec’s arm, gripping his wrist. “Draw the rune,” she said quietly. “It won’t last long.”

“What won’t?” Isabelle asked.

But even as Alec watched, Jace began to writhe against the shredded upholstery. A little keen of pain escaped his lips and his pale eyes threatened to roll back in his head. He began to tremble softly and Clary pressed her hand to his thigh, hushing him softly, but whatever power she had used had passed. Jace didn’t calm, didn’t even seem aware of their presence at his feet. He was lost in the agony.

“Stele,” he said to Isabelle and she handed it to him eagerly. 

Alec quickly scrawled a healing rune into Jace’s skin, pressing it deep so it could heal the horrible damage. Jace made a soft sound of agony, but relaxed again as the rune did its work. Perfect pale skin fanned over the hideous burns, smoothing away all the damage and once again burying his bones where they belonged. Jace let out a breath of relief as the last of his burned skin healed flawlessly.

“What happened?” he whispered.

Isabelle fell into him, throwing her arms around his neck tightly. The burns hadn’t been entirely life-threatening, but it was always a horrible thing to see someone you loved hurt badly. It always felt like a small death and the relief was always crippling. Though Alec wanted to do the same, to comfort himself that Jace was alright, he held back. Instead, he studied Jace for further signs of shock, but his parabatai just looked exhausted. Phantom pain still lined his features, twisted his mouth, and lingered in his eyes.

“Are you alright?” Clary asked kindly.

Jace nodded weakly. “I think so…”

“Let’s get you into bed,” Alec said. 

“I’ll help you,” Isabelle offered.

Together, they supported Jace between them as the phantom pain from his burns assaulted him. He cried out softly with each step, but didn’t let them carry him. Clary opened his bedroom door and Alec went into the bathroom with him, helping him change into fresh pajamas. Then, they eased Jace down on his unmade bed. Church was waiting on the pillow, meowing with concern.

“I’m okay,” Jace murmured. “I am.”

Alec turned away from Jace to face Clary. She was carrying a small canvas satchel packed with clothes so that she looked like a runaway child even though she was splattered with gore. “What are you doing here? What happened?”

Isabelle pulled her robe closed, folding her arms around herself. “I thought you were staying with Luke and Simon,” she said and there was a question in her tone that insisted on an answer.

Clary’s shoulders jerked as if she had been struck, but her voice was smooth as she said, “I couldn’t stay there.” 

Jace studied her through heavy eyes as she spoke. He saw the unspoken words in the concerned press of her mouth, the darkness in her deep eyes, and the fear that suddenly seemed to radiate from her very core. She twisted a lock of blood-colored hair around her finger and her eyes slid to meet his gaze. 

“You can stay here,” he said without thinking.

Alec’s mouth flapped open like a curtain, but Jace didn’t give him a chance to protest.

“Right, Alec, Isabelle?” he asked them.

Isabelle was nodding already, too tired to disagree.

Church came to lay in Jace’s lap and the cat was so warm that Jace’s eyelids drooped further. “We can talk about this in the morning,” he murmured.

“Yeah,” Isabelle said, “but what about…?” Her dark eyes slid to Clary.

“Can I stay here, Jace?” the girl asked softly.

Jace nodded, too tired to think.

Alec wanted to protest, but he thought of Clary kneeling in the blood at Jace’s seared feet. She had done something to take away his pain, to prevent him from going into shock, with that light in her hand. If she was going to hurt him, she had had ample opportunities and yet she hadn’t. It must have been the late hour that made Alec so agreeable, but there suddenly didn’t seem to be a reason to keep her separated from them. He nodded slowly and murmured, “Okay.”

Isabelle tugged at his sleeve, leading him from the room, and the door closed softly at their backs.

“Don’t kill me in my sleep,” Jace whispered sleepily as he slumped over against his pillow. As Clary pulled the sheet and blankets over him, the whisper of cloth against his skin sent spears of pain through his feet and legs. The rune may have healed him, but the phantom pain always lingered for a while afterwards. He made a little sound of half-stifled pain, squeezing his eyes shut tightly. “Okay?”

“I won’t hurt you,” she told him kindly and circled to the other side of the bed. She stripped off her blood-stained clothes and pulled on some of the clean ones she and Isabelle had bought from her shoulder bag. Then, she lifted the blankets and slid into bed beside Jace. “Goodnight,” she said softly.

But he was already asleep, his breath light in the silence.

X X X

Questions, comments, concerns?

Reviews for this story are suffering badly again…


	26. What's in a Name?

Phew! I have a doggy door that my cat goes out of and she was gone the whole night last week so I spent my morning installing invisible electric cat fence with my dad. Fingers crossed!

X X X

Jace woke the next morning to an uncomfortable line of warm bright sun streaming across his face. He was going to roll over, away from the window, and get some more sleep when he realized there was warmth nestled against him. At first, he thought it was Church, cuddled up with him as the cat normally did at night, but then he became aware that something was licking his hair and that something was purring. If Church was sleeping on his pillow, doing something outrageous to his hair, then what was…?

Jace opened his eyes, squinting against the bright light, and scrutinized whatever was cuddled up in his arms. It murmured softly, snuggling deeper into his embrace, breath soft on his exposed chest and throat. Jace stared for a moment, unable to comprehend what he was seeing. It was a girl with ruby-red hair and lightly freckled skin. She was wearing a thin tank top and he could feel the soft press of her breasts. Her legs were tangled with his, her fingers curled against his chest, and she was snuggled against him so tightly that there was barely an inch of space between their bodies. 

Clary, he realized with a jolt. 

Clarissa Morgenstern was sleeping in his bed with him, cuddled up as if they were lovers and had spent a torrid night together. What the hell had happened last night? The last thing he remembered was the Institute’s doorbell ringing at an ungodly hour and then pain. There was nothing but searing white-hot pain. In fact, most of his lower body still ached even if the agony he recalled from the night before was distant. And light—he remembered seeing a strange light that should have belonged to an angel but didn’t.

Clary murmured softly, beginning to stir in Jace’s arms. The muscles in her bare legs flexed, stretching between his, brushing against a part of his body that he wished was still sleeping. Her eyelids fluttered, slits of green peeking out to discover the bright morning sunlight and then closing again. Her arm moved over his bare waist, pulling him closer.

Jace tried to release her, to shimmy away on the bed so that it looked as if he had never touched her, but they were too deeply entangled. Even the blankets were snarled around them in a warm cocoon. 

“Thinking about chewing your arm off?” Clary’s voice came suddenly, startling him.

“No,” he sputtered out. “I was just—”

She opened her eyes and they were a sorrowful poignant green despite the clipped tone of her voice. She looked so content, so warm and protected lying in his arms, that he suddenly wondered why it was so important for him to get away from her anyway. So what if she was Valentine Morgenstern’s daughter? She was still a good person, she was still beautiful, and she was still here with him.

“Clary,” he murmured quietly and tightened the embrace of his arms around her back.

She melted into him immediately as if desperate for a kind touch. She pressed her nose into the hollow of his throat, her lips ghosting against his skin as she spoke. “I was cold last night,” she said by way of explanation. “I got a little closer to you and you were having a nightmare or something… You wrapped your arms around me and you were so warm that I just couldn’t pull away from you.”

Nightmares? Jace didn’t remember having any nightmares nor had he woken in the throes of one. The night had been peaceful and warm, intermingled with flashes of half-remembered pain in his legs and feet. He had slept better last night than he had in what felt like years. He felt incredibly rested even if he had only gotten a few hours of sleep. 

“I’m sorry… Do you mind?” Clary whispered.

Surprisingly, he confessed, “No.” He shifted his legs away from her, hoping she wouldn’t discover that his body was enjoying her closeness more than he was ready to admit.

He felt her lips curve against his bare skin as she asked, “Really?”

He nodded, his chin brushing the top of her head.

“You’re so nice, Jace,” she murmured against his skin.

He wasn’t certain what to say to that so he just kept quiet. Clary remained nestled against him, showing no signs of moving away, with her lips pressed softly to his collarbone. Her breath was light on his skin, peaceful, relaxed. It seemed almost impossible that she could be so comfortable with him and he with her. Her father had butchered his parents and he was supposed to despise her the same way he wanted revenge on Valentine, but he just didn’t. 

Clary’s fingers wandered the naked plane of his chest, tracing both the fresh dark marks of the runes carved into his skin and the lingering pale scars. She mapped the dark veins at the insides of his elbows, the fine golden hairs at the center of his chest, and the thin skin over his collarbones. Her hand curled over the strong muscle of his bicep as she traced a path up over the bones of his narrow shoulders before wandering over the ridges of his toned stomach. 

She traced the sharp bones of his hips where they peeked out above the waistband of his pajama bottoms and he was about to tell her not to go any lower when she lifted her hand back to his chest without a word. She leaned in close against him, her hair tickling his bare skin. Her breath was soft and warm against his throat, but she slowly lifted her head until she was looking right into his eyes in a clash of green and gold that belonged on a piece of jewelry. For a moment, he thought she’d lean in to kiss him and he wasn’t sure if he’d stop her.

So suddenly that she startled Jace, she pressed her fingers into the hollow of his throat, feeling the measured beat of his pulse. He shuddered as her fingers ghosted over the place where Valentine had once slit his throat, closing his eyes. He knew that no scar remained there, thanks to the healing rune that had saved his life, but he still imagined that the skin there was more tender and sensitive than the rest of his neck. Clary found the lingering scar of the healing rune at his throat and rubbed her thumb over it gently.

“This is where he did it, isn’t it?” she asked suddenly.

Jace swallowed uneasily. “What?”

“This is where Valentine slit your throat, isn’t it?”

Jace nodded. 

“There’s no scar,” she said wonderingly.

His throat flashed as he breathed. “Yeah.”

“Why is that?” she asked.

“Just before Valentine butchered my parents, my mother managed to send a distress signal to a friend of hers—the warlock, Magnus Bane. He arrived moments after Valentine did this to me. He chased Valentine away and used the healing rune to save my life. Then, he brought me to this Institute, to Hodge…”

Clary gently stroked the ridges of his neck with her fingertips. “I’m sorry,” she murmured, “for what my father did to you. I don’t understand why he’d want to kill the Waylands. They used to be part of his Circle. They weren’t his most loyal followers, but I don’t know why he would want them dead.”

Jace wet his lips, uncertain if he should trust her enough to tell her his secret. Finally, before he could over-think it, he said, “My name’s not really Jace Wayland.”

She tensed in his arms. “What?”

“My real name is Herondale,” he confessed.

Clary jolted upright in the bed, tearing herself from Jace’s arms. “Herondale?” she repeated, eyes wide. “I thought they were extinct.”

Jace shook his head. “Hodge thought it would be best for me to be with a real family since I was only ten when my parents were murdered. He sent me to live with the Waylands for a little while, but it didn’t work out well. I was only there for about a week before I came back to this Institute to be with Isabelle and Alec, but Valentine attacked the Waylands soon after that regardless and all that remained of their family moved far away. I took their name because I felt that it was my fault that they were attacked.” He took a deep breath. “It also seemed easier than having to be ‘The Last Herondale.’”

“Herondale,” Clary repeated in a whisper. Her green eyes were far-seeing and she bit her lower lip.

“Clary?” Jace asked, sitting up beside her on the bed. “What is it?”

“Herondale,” she breathed again.

“Clary?” He grasped her shoulder gingerly and turned her to face him.

She jolted beneath his hand, goose bumps breaking out all over her skin beneath the warmth of his palm. “Jace,” she said abruptly. “I have to go. I’ll be back later.” She threw herself out of the bed, grabbed her rucksack, shoved her bare feet into her singed shoes, and ran from the room. The door hung open in her wake like a broken jaw.

Clary must have passed Isabelle in the hallway because she appeared in the threshold of Jace’s bedroom a moment later. “What was that all about?” she asked, brushing back her dark hair.

Jace just stared at her. “I have no idea,” he said.

“Well, get up,” she said pitilessly, “and give my your dirty laundry. Alec is waiting for you in the kitchen. We have to talk to the Silent Brothers when they get here. I know they creep you out, but don’t you dare sneak off.”

“I won’t.”

Isabelle fixed him with a stern look. “I mean it, Jace,” she warned him. “You’re the one who spent all that time with Clary. You have to explain to them that you think they’re wrong and also that she’s not here anymore.” She hesitated, twisting some hair nervously around her long finger. “We also have to talk about Hodge.”

Jace nodded even if his mouth suddenly tasted like ash.

“How are your feet?” Isabelle asked finally.

“Alright,” he said. “Still a little sore.”

“That’s to be expected,” Isabelle said. “They were burned right down to the bone.”

Jace shuddered. “Really?”

“It was bad, Jace,” she told him. “Really bad.” Then, she clapped her hands, picked up the plastic laundry hamper from the floor, hitched it over her hip, and fixed him with her dark eyes. She said firmly, “Now, I’m not going to tell you again. Get out of bed and bring me your dirty clothes. I’m doing laundry.”

…

Jace joined Alec in the kitchen fifteen minutes after that, freshly-showered and clad in clean clothes. He had managed to put on socks, but the prospect of shoes was a painful thought. Each step sent a stab of phantom pain through his feet. The pain wasn’t nearly as bad as he remembered it being the night before, but it was still more than a twinge. For the pain to still remain, the injury must have been really terrible.

“Good morning,” Jace said to his parabatai.

“How are your feet?” Alec asked.

Jace sat down heavily and propped them up on a chair with a wince and that was answer enough.

“That bad?”

“That bad,” Jace agreed. “What happened last night?”

“You don’t remember?”

“Not really.”

Alec quickly told him about the Institute’s doorbell ringing in the wee hours of the night, the fiery demons invading the front lawn, Clary being viciously attack by them, and Jace rushing headlong into danger like a fool with no shoes on. Then, he told Jace about the strange light in Clary’s hand and how she had somehow taken Jace’s pain and prevented him from going into shock while Isabelle had been fetching her Stele from upstairs. “You don’t remember any of that?” he asked when he finished.

Jace shook his head. “I remember a little of what you said Clary did. I remember thinking that her face looked strange.”

Now it was Alec’s turn to shake his head. “She looked like an angel in that light, Jace.”

Isabelle entered the kitchen, out of her pajamas with her hair scraped back into a ponytail. “Something smells delicious,” she said appreciatively. 

Alec handed her a plate of bacon and eggs. “You can do the toast.”

“Roger,” she agreed and dropped four slices of bread into the newly-replaced appliance. 

Alec slid Jace a plate of breakfast. “Where is Clary anyway? Should I make her a plate?”

“No. She left this morning,” Jace said. “Just ran out when I told her I’m really a Herondale.”

Alec and Isabelle stared at him, not really stricken by Jace’s confession, merely surprised. Jace didn’t often talk about his true last name—he rarely spoke of his past at all, but it wasn’t a secret. He would tell anyone who asked him directly. He just hung on to the name Wayland like a masochist clinging to his punishing shackles and waiting.

(Just a few years ago, a surviving member of the Wayland family had come to the Institute with the hopes that ‘Jace Wayland’ was really Michael Wayland’s son, Jonathon, having survived Valentine’s attack. Jace had been just as quick to explain to her that he was really a Herondale and that he was clinging guiltily to their name to draw Valentine’s fire should he want to attack the Waylands again. He was also secretly hoping that Valentine would come after him so he could enact his revenge, but no such thing had happened yet. Even so, the name Herondale took a backseat.) 

“Really?” Isabelle asked. “Maybe it meant something to her.”

Jace rolled his shoulders. “I don’t know, but she ran out right after I told her that.”

“Alright,” Alec said as he set down the plate of buttered toast. “Enough of that. Let’s eat. The Silent Brothers will be here soon.”

…

Sure enough, a pair of Silent Brothers arrived just as the trio put away the breakfast dishes. Church scrambled from the living room to the upstairs hallway where he hunkered at the top of the sitars and watched with narrowed eyes. Isabelle answered the door and then they all gathered in Hodge’s library. Alec explained as simply as he possibly could what had happened over the course of the past few days, careful not to mention anything he shouldn’t such as Luke’s organized coup. All the while, Jace looked very much on edge even though the Silent Brothers kept their hoods drawn up and their mutilated faces hidden.

‘Hodge Starkweather is gone.’ His silent voice echoed through their heads, ringing there like a bell.

‘He has once again betrayed the Clave,’ the second said.

“Once again?” Jace broke in, unable to contain himself any longer.

One Silent Brother turned to face him, eyes catching the light in the pit of his dark hood. ‘Yes. He was once part of Valentine’s Circle,’ he said. ‘We gave him a second chance because he gave us some of Valentine’s secrets in exchange for mercy.’

“I thought the Clave didn’t know if Hodge was involved,” Jace said, the words spilling out of his mouth. “I thought they were just rumors.”

‘The Clave keeps its secrets,’ the Silent Brother said stonily. ‘And it keeps them well.’

Jace clenched his hands into fists, his heart hammering against the cage of his ribs.

The Silent Brothers turned to Alec. ‘Where is Clarissa Morgenstern?’

“I told you already,” Alec said. “Hodge took her to Valentine’s base at Renwick’s.”

‘Renwick’s is empty,’ the first Silent Brother said, ‘and it has been for years.’

“It’s not,” Alec said firmly. “We went by there, just to see what the conditions were like, and it was crawling with members of Valentine’s Circle.”

‘What about the demonic activity that was recorded here last night?’ the second Silent Brother demanded.

“We dispatched them,” Alec said.

It became obvious that the Silent Brothers were continuing to ask questions that Alec had already answered in the hopes of discovering a hole in his story, but Alec had spent all of breakfast getting their story straight. He wasn’t going to mess it up now. After several more questions had been answered with much of the same answers Alec had already given, the Silent Brothers relented.

‘If Clarissa Morgenstern returns here, you must tell us,’ they said in unison. Their voices were louder together. 

“No problem,” Alec lied smoothly.

“Wait,” Jace interrupted. “I don’t think Clarissa is a danger to us or the Clave. I think she opposes Valentine.”

‘What makes you think this, Jace Wayland?’ the second Silent Brother asked.

Since Alec had left out all the parts about Clary saving Jace from a demon in Renwick’s and also the coup that she was a part of, Jace had to resort to the only thing he could tell them. “She saved me from a Forsaken when Valentine invaded the Institute in search of her. Hodge should have told you that already.”

The Silent Brothers observed him with the bright points of their eyes, weighing his words and nodding to each other after a long moment. They must have been communicating silently with each other, agreeing upon something with words only they could hear. ‘We will inform the Clave that she is not to be killed or tortured if she is found,’ they finally said. ‘Is that enough for you, Jace Wayland?’

Jace nodded.

‘Contact us if you learn more,’ the first Silent Brother said. ‘Until future notice, you are in charge of this Institute, Alexander Lightwood. Take care of the area.’

Alec inclined his head. “I will.”

With a quiet whisper of heavy robes on the floorboards, the Silent Brothers turned and left the Institute, vanishing in the buttery New York daytime. Jace slumped down in a chair with a sigh of relief, Isabelle watched nervously from the library’s wide bay window, and Alec pushed his hand through his dark hair.

“Thank the Angel,” Alec breathed out. “They believed us.”

X X X

Questions, comments, concerns?

Review!


	27. Time for a Trip

I’ve been playing Ni No Kuni. That game is so fun!

X X X

It was late. Isabelle and Alec had already gone to bed. The Institute was quiet and still save for Church prowling the halls. Jace was sitting up at Hodge’s desk, staring unseeingly at the pages of a manuscript that lay open on the desk, when Clary returned to the Institute. 

She was wearing dark clothing that made her look as pale as a ghost and somehow also shine like a jewel. She was carrying a small dagger in the woven belt at her waist, fingers resting lightly on the hilt as if she expected a fight. Her fair skin was slightly sunburned and her red hair was strewn in the wild halo around her head. Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes bright as if with fever, and she said without preamble, “I know what my father wants.”

“What?” Jace demanded, leaping to his feet despite the pain he knew would follow.

“I know why he killed your parents and tried to kill you,” she continued.

“Why?” Jace asked, his voice barely a breath despite the fierce expression on his face. All his strength seemed to have gone into keeping his temper in check, leaving none remaining for his voice.

“Because there’s an angel in your house, hidden there for centuries,” she said shortly. “And he wanted it.” She shook herself, pushing back her hair, and rephrased her words. “He still wants it badly.”

For a moment, Jace just stared at her. She wasn’t even certain that he was breathing. His golden eyes looked like slivers of molten metal beneath his pale spidery lashes, dangerous and lethal if not painful. She studied him warily for a moment, but he didn’t move towards her. His hands folded into fists that trembled, but he still didn’t make a move to hurt her. In fact, he didn’t move at all.

“Herons used to be mistaken for angels (1),” Clary continued, keeping her eyes on him closely. “That’s why it’s the crest of your family—a heron in flight. They were the guardians of the angel who fell to earth centuries ago.”

“I don’t think—”

“It’s true,” Clary insisted. “My father wants the power of an angel, the power of a god. But he could never get close to the Herondale’s home, never get close enough to get to the angel, so he murdered them all to get them out of the way. Soon after, he realized that he needed one of them to get to the angel. Only a Herondale can open the gate, but he thought he killed them all so he moved on. He began an allegiance with demons, but I don’t think he knows who you really are now—not under the name Jace Wayland. If we can get to the angel before he does…” She trailed off, letting the words hang in the air between them.

A wicked smile spread across Jace’s lips. “If we can get to the angel before Valentine does, we can stop him.”

Clary nodded, her hair a riot of red curls that looked like tongues of fire.

“Let’s go,” Jace said, immediately limping towards the hallway but the pain was distant compared to his eagerness for revenge.

Clary followed after him, closing the door at their backs with the soft click. Empty of Hodge and Hugo, the library was dark like a crypt yet the books whispered to each other. Moonlight streamed in through the bay window, playing on the pages of the open manuscript like a phantom reader.

…

“What do you mean ‘he’s gone’?” Alec repeated, rolling some sausages around in the frying pan.

Isabelle huffed, folding her arms across her chest. “I mean exactly what I said, he’s gone. Jace is gone.”

“He can’t be gone,” Alec said. “Did you look in the music room?”

“Yes.”

“The library?”

“Yes.”

“The garden? The training room? The dungeon?”

“Yes, yes, yes,” Isabelle said irritably. “He’s gone. Completely and totally gone.”

“Did he leave a note?” Alec asked, putting aside his breakfast preparations. The sausage sizzled noisily, popping and crackling, or maybe that sound was coming from Isabelle. She looked mad enough to start smoking any minute now.

“None that I found,” Isabelle told her brother.

“Did you look—?”

“Alec, don’t you dare start that again. I looked, okay?”

“Okay,” Alec said and fell quiet, studying the neglected sausages. “Where could he have gone? Does it look like something happened?”

“He took his weapons, but it doesn’t look like he took any clothes,” Isabelle said.

Alec ran his hand over his face. “So he’s planning on coming back before he needs clean clothes, but he’s going to do something stupid so he took his weapons. Does it look like Clary ever came back?”

Isabelle shrugged her shoulders. “I have no idea and no way of telling.”

“We’ll have to just wait,” Alec said finally. “If he’s not back by tonight, we’ll try to track him down.”

“Are you sure?” Isabelle asked.

“You know Jace,” Alec said. “He does this sometimes when he’s upset. He just goes off on his own and gets into fights.”

“It’s like sex for him,” Isabelle said. 

Alec flushed. “Izzy!”

“Okay, okay,” she said with a smile. “He’s probably just frustrated because he’s come to like Clary even though she’s Valentine Morgenstern’s daughter. All that rage has to go somewhere so I’m sure he’s out picking a fight. If he’s not back by tonight, we’ll go out looking for him. That sounds fair, but when he comes back, I’m kicking his ass.”

“Now that sounds fair,” Alec said and put the sausages back over the heat.

…

Meanwhile, Jace and Clary sat in silence in the mostly-deserted subway car with a rucksack of weapons at their feet on their way to the Herondale manor. It was around nine in the morning and the fact that he had rushed out with Clary in the middle of the night was beginning to catch up with Jace. His eyelids were heavy and his head kept drooping like a blind that needed a new cord, but he kept jolting back into wakefulness every few minutes. Clary was seated beside him, her hands folded in her lap, looking alert if not a little annoyed.

Again, his eyes slipped closed and his head dropped. His chin brushed the material of his shirt and he jolted upright again, his eyes as wide as saucers in an attempt to wake up. Darkness flashed by outside the subway windows, only increasing his belief that it was bedtime. Again, his eyes grew heavy.

“Jace,” Clary said irritably. “Why don’t you take a nap?”

“I don’t need a nap,” he told her sharply.

She poked the side of his arm. “That’s not what your body language is saying.”

“What’s it saying then?” he asked her. “That ‘I’m gorgeous and available’?”

Clary snorted. “More like ‘I’d be great in bed if I had the energy to get it up.’”

Jace nearly choked, his voice rising to an octave only dogs could hear. “I can always get it up!”

The three other people sharing the subway car with them looked up sharply with mixed expressions of partly-shock, partly-disgust, and partly-wishing-they-were-on-another-car. The man quickly went back to his paper, the woman turned her attention to his hair, and the college student plugged in his earphones. The trio set to studiously ignoring Jace and Clary.

Clary slid Jace a look that said she wished she was lucky enough to be able to ignore him. “Jace,” she said sternly, “take a nap. We have several hours before we get there.”

Jace folded his arms over his chest petulantly. “I don’t need a nap,” he grumbled.

Clary laid her hand on his arm, her skin warm and soft.

Jace flinched away, uncertain of what she intended to do with that deadly hand of hers.

“I’m not going to hurt you, Jace,” Clary said.

“I know that,” he said. “It’s just—”

“I’ll help you fall asleep. Turn around, let me see your back,” she interrupted him, making a little circle with her finger.

Jace started at her for a minute, but then did as she asked. He swung his aching legs onto the long bench seat and sat up rigidly straight with his back towards her. He heard the rustle of her clothing as she moved and jumped when she laid her hands on his shoulders. She didn’t console him again by saying that she wasn’t going to hurt him, but instead began working her fingers into the tense muscles of his back. The massage was exactly what Jace needed, being too tense to sleep but too exhausted to stay awake. 

Clary’s breath was warm on the back of his neck, her fingers expert as she kneaded his muscles into putty, and she smelled like flowers and fresh apples. Jace soon found his eyes drooping again and he melted against her. She angled herself into the corner of the bench so she could support him better as he nodded off. Her breasts were soft on his back and her arms warm as they circled around his shoulders. His head rested against the side of her neck, her hair tickling his face, and she looked so beautiful even in the stark fluorescent lighting.

He lifted his hand towards her face and now it was her turn to flinch as if she expected him to strike her. He didn’t speak, just gently tucked a strand of ruby-red hair behind her ear so that he could look into her eyes with a soft sleepy smile. She gazed down at him, lying in her arms like a child, trusting her the way no one else ever had. She was Valentine Morgenstern’s daughter, after all. Most people didn’t want to look at her or even hear her name, but Jace…

Jace had helped her when she was imprisoned in the Institute’s dungeon, tortured and starving, naked and cold. Even though she had attacked him, even though she had tried to escape, he still came to help her no matter the reason he had had at the time. He had saved her life during Valentine’s invasion and she had done the same for him. He had shared his bed with her just last night, holding her warm and safe in his arms even if it had been unintentional at first. And now, he was lying so trustingly in her arms with his hand a warm gentle pressure on her face like she was to be treasured.

“Sleep,” she whispered, pulling his hand from her cheek and holding it. “I’ll wake you when we get there.”

He gazed up at her, his eyes molten with warmth. After a moment, his eyes slid away and she felt his gaze on her lips like a feather-light touch. Then, he met her eyes again and she noticed he was smiling slightly. His golden hair was a halo around his head, his skin sun-bronzed while being alternately darkly Marked and lightly scarred, and he looked a little like a statue of an angel.

“Jace,” she breathed out, wetting her lips nervously. 

She felt on the cusp of something, but she wasn’t sure what. He couldn’t possibly want her to… not in the middle of a subway car… not when she was Valentine Morgenstern’s daughter. Right…? His fingers curled in her grasp, intertwining with hers, and his thumb moved over her knuckles in a gentle caress. Again, she felt the brush of his gaze moving over her lips and wet them again. 

Despite himself, Jace couldn’t tear his eyes from Clary, from this moment between them. Her lips were perfect, moist and slightly-parted as if just waiting for him. She studied him lying against her, relaxed and warm, but didn’t move either closer or farther from him. She wavered, her green eyes fixed on him before darting quickly to his mouth as well.

“Jace,” she murmured.

“Kiss me goodnight?” he asked, leaving plenty of room for her to deny him. There was nothing demanding in his tone, just a soft question brought out by how tired he was. In fact, it sounded more like a gentle offer than anything.

Her heart skipped a beat at the thought. “I shouldn’t,” she murmured. “My father killed your parents and tried to kill you. My father—”

“Valentine,” Jace interrupted softly, as if so long as she didn’t say he was her father, it wouldn’t be true. He wanted to look past her parents, past his own thirst for revenge, and only see the girl—Clary—who was with him in this moment. He whispered her name.

She didn’t hesitate any longer after that, just leaned down in a smooth motion to press her lips to his. His eyes slid closed in pleasure. She angled her chin, melding to him like an expert, but Jace chased those thoughts away. He focused on the feeling of her mouth against his, warm and soft and sweet. He lifted his free hand to tangle in her hair despite the strange angle, stroking the blood-red locks against the back of her neck, while his other hand remained clasped in hers. 

Her lips parted like the petals of a flower and just as slowly. Accepting, Jace opened his mouth to her, his tongue darting out to meet her halfway. She sighed, her breath warm on his cheeks, and deepened the kiss. Her free hand was pressed to his chest, just over the hammering beat of his heart, and her fingers curled in the soft fabric of his shirt. His tongue tangled with hers, teeth lightly ghosting over her lower lip in a way that made her gasp. She pushed against him, hard, devouring him, but then she backed off, turning her kisses sleepily tender and sweet.

Jace had never felt this way before and he had kissed plenty of girls. Hell, he had slept with plenty of girls. He had even been inches away from kissing Clary the previous morning when he woke up to find her nestled in his arms. He had nearly slept with Clary in a dream and he had certainly enjoyed kissing her in said dream, but reality was ten times better. Her lips were pliant and soft beneath his, but she occasionally fought for dominance in a way that was both adorable and a turn-on.

As if sensing those naughty thoughts, Clary broke the kiss.

Jace was satisfied to see that she was breathing hard and her cheeks were flushed despite the cool and collected expression she was managing to keep in place. He was about to comment when he laid her hand over his eyes and said softly, “Now, go to sleep, Jace.”

Smiling, he closed his eyed contentedly and tried to rest. Clary began to hum a soft song deep in her chest that matched the steady beat of the subway rattling over the tracks. Her fingers combed through his hair gently, stroking the golden tresses. Finally, Jace gave into his exhaustion and napped.

(The trio of people riding the subway with the two teens let out a silent breath of relief.)

…

It was mid-afternoon and Jace still hadn’t returned to the Institute. Even when he went out like this, he was usually back by now, often battered and bruised from whatever fight he had gotten himself into. It was strange for him not to have returned yet, very strange.

“He’s not back yet?” Isabelle asked Alec again. She peered out the window at the bustling city street as if Jace would walk right up the sidewalk as if nothing had happened, as if he hadn’t been missing all day making her worried sick.

“No,” Alec said. “I’m getting worried. Maybe we should go look for him.”

“Ten more minutes,” Isabelle told him. “If he’s not back in ten minutes, we’ll go look for him.” She crossed the room to sit beside her brother on the shredded Victorian sofa. “We need to have this reupholstered,” she said absently. 

Alec nodded, but his eyes were fixed on the ticking grandfather clock that stood in the corner. Ten minutes crawled past while Isabelle prattled on about nothing and Alec nodded occasionally. Finally, he stood up from the couch, grabbed his coat, handed Isabelle her whip, and the two of them headed out into New York City in search of their adopted brother.

X X X

(1) I just want everyone to know that I am completely making all this up. I have no idea if herons were ever mistaken for angels (although it seems kind of likely if you look at them in flight) or anything about the Herondale family.

Questions, comments, concerns?


	28. The Herondale Manor

Okay, the reviews for this story are dropping painfully so I might have to drop the updating for this story painfully (to Mondays only).

X X X

“Jace,” came a soft sweet voice as if from over the endless shining sea. “Wake up, Jace. We’re here.”

He was still so tired. Maybe just five more minutes… Then, there was a soft press to his lips and his hands reached up automatically to tangle in silky red tresses. He felt Clary smile into the kiss before she deepened it, tongue sliding past his teeth as easily as a knife cutting through his defenses. Then, she ended the kiss and pulled away with a whisper of a pleasant sigh. Her soft fingers lingered for just a moment on the curve of his jaw and her other hand slid tenderly through his hair. 

She said again, “Wake up, sleepyhead.”

He yawned, stretching his arms in a ripple of muscles. “I could get used to waking up like this.”

“Don’t,” she said with a cool warning in her voice. 

Jace pushed himself into a sitting position and turned to look at her curiously. One moment, she was kissing him with total abandon and now she was completely closed off. He supposed, considering her history of rape and abuse, she had plenty of reason to be worried and he should be as understanding as possible. Clary wordlessly handed him the bag of weapons they had brought, rose to her feet, and moved to exit the subway car. Jace had to scramble after her, limping with the pain that still lingered in his feet, but she was waiting for him just outside the car.

“Jace,” she began, “I’m sorry—”

He cut her off by taking her hand and pulling her flush against his chest, wrapping her close with his free arm. “It’s alright,” he said cheekily. “I know it’s hard to be with someone as wonderful as me.”

Clary stared at him for a minute and then giggled softly. She pulled free of his embrace and headed up the subway steps. At the top, she was momentarily silhouetted by the sunlight and, with her ruby-red hair streaming around her shoulders and the tails of her jacket flapping like wings, she looked like an angel. Jace hurried after her, the bag of weapons banging against his leg.

They had taken the subway far out of New York City and into the nearby small town. There, they caught a bus that would take them farther into the countryside where the Herondale manor was located. Though they traveled in companionable silence and Jace was feeling much better (not that he’d admit it) after his nap, he was restless. He hadn’t been to his family home since the night Valentine had butchered his parents. He hadn’t even returned for clothes or favorite toys, instead letting Magnus Bane or Hodge just choose randomly what they thought Jace would need from the empty homestead. Jace wondered if his parents’ blood was still soaking the walls and carpets.

“Jace.” Clary’s voice interrupted his thoughts. “Are you alright?”

“Fine,” he said, “just thinking.”

“About what?”

“The angel,” he lied. “I’ve never seen one before. I wonder what it’ll be like.”

Clary started at him for a moment, her green eyes narrowed, and he knew she knew he was lying. 

He let his breath out in a rush and admitted, “It’s just… I haven’t been here in years. I wonder what it’ll be like.”

Clary gazed out the window at the beautiful houses and neatly-trimmed lawns as they passed by in a blur. “It probably won’t be anything like you remember,” she said finally. “Not if my father was there. You saw what he did to your rooms at the Institute. I’m sure he was even angrier when he learned he couldn’t get his hands on the angel.”

Jace followed her line of sight, studying a great white villa half-hidden behind tall hedges. “It’s not that,” he whispered. “Do you… do you think anyone cleaned up the blood?”

But Clary never answered him. The bus ground to a halt in front of the Herondale manor with the squealing hiss of air-brakes. Jace thanked the driver as they clambered down the steep steps and then stood with Clary, blinking in the bright sunlight, and stared up at his childhood home.

When he was a small boy, before Valentine murdered his parents, the manor had been beautiful. (1) Its exterior walls had once been golden-cream with countless balconies circled in wrought-iron railings in stunningly elaborate patterns. A stunning veranda with Mediterranean tiles surrounded the entire house and Jace had spent much of his childhood playing there. His mother had once kept a beautiful garden filled with the most exotic plants from the farthest reaches of the world, tended with her hand like an angel’s. The house had once been beautiful, like heaven on earth, and Jace now wondered if that had anything to do with the angel his family was charged with protecting.

But now, seven years had passed since his parents’ brutal murder and the house had fallen into disrepair. His mother’s garden, as if tended by her phantom hands and nourished by her spilled blood, had grown into a jungle. A few of the balconies had crumpled under the weight of the beautiful flowering vines that crawled over them. Plants spilled in through a few broken windows and it looked like a fire had broken out in part of the house, black soot staining the wall. The veranda’s tiles were broken and chipped, littered with dead leaves and giant flowers that looked capable of swallowing up the world. It looked nothing like the beautiful manor where Jace had grown up. It was being reclaimed by nature and time, haunted by the death of his parents.

The only hint of his childhood that remained was the crest of the Herondale family over the front doors. It peeked between curtains of flowering vines so that all he could see was the spread of the wings of the heron in flight. It really did look like an angel.

“Jace?” Clary asked, her voice seeming to come from a long way off. “Are you alright?”

“No one’s touched this house,” he whispered more to himself than to her.

“Can mundanes even see it?” Clary asked.

Jace shook his head. “But I thought other Shadowhunters would…”

“Reclaim it?” she asked. “No one reclaims houses once people have died inside. They belong to ghosts and nature after such a tragedy.”

Jace stood on the cracked sidewalk, just staring.

Clary slipped her hand into his and gave his fingers a squeeze. “Let’s go,” she said gently. “There’s an angel inside your house, Jace.”

He nodded, but couldn’t speak as Clary led him up the walkway to the front doors. It took both of them several minutes to sweep the vines far enough aside so that they could open the doors. They had never been locked, but had been neglected for years. The hinges screamed as Jace fought the door open with his shoulder.

The inside of the house might have been exactly the same beneath the vines and dust, but Jace couldn’t be certain. He stared at the grand staircase which swept up in dual forms like the symmetrical petals of a flower, remembering all the times he had wanted to slide down the banister but had always been caught by his father. The parquet floors were crawling with more vines that had come in through the broken window and a few birds had built nests within the shelter of the house. It was full of birdsong in spite of the darkness that had happened here. Despite himself, Jace pulled away from Clary and wandered through the hallowed halls.

The ceiling was stained with dark water, rings of it fanning out beautifully despite everything. Part of the roof upstairs had collapsed, probably under the weight of the snow one winter. Jace’s father had forever been battling with the weather and the roof’s elaborate tiles. Sunlight streamed in, tinged green by his mother’s overflowing garden and echoing with the songs of the birds outside. Chandeliers and crystal wall sconces caught the light, spattering rainbows across everything. Jace climbed the stairs, pleased to discover that they didn’t threaten to give way beneath his feet. It had only been seven years, after all, and the floors were still sound. 

He made his way through the hall upstairs, the tips of his fingers grazing the wall. His feet ached with each step, the phantom pain still filling him from the fight with the fiery demons the night before. As if to mock him, he discovered the shorted wire that had caused the fire in his childhood home lying across the hallway like a venomous snake. Clary came up at his back, her fingers tangling in the back of his shirt, and she must have called his name, but he didn’t hear her. He pushed open the door to the room that had once been his. He wasn’t sure if it was relief or something else entirely that filled him when he set eyes on the empty room. Magnus Bane and Hodge had moved most of his things to the Institute after his parents’ death, after all.

“Jace,” Clary murmured. “Was this your room?”

Jace nodded, stepping past the threshold. Glow-in-the-dark stars were still pasted on the ceiling though they had long ago lost their glow. The closet hung open and empty, but there were still dark stains on the parquet floors. Jace tried to convince himself that it wasn’t his blood, that it was merely age and dirt, but he knew the truth.

He remembered the cold of Valentine’s hands on his shoulders, the press of the knife at his throat while it was still warm with his mother’s blood, and then the tearing pain. He had run from Valentine, his hand pressed to his throat, feeling the blood pouring between his fingers. He was thinking of the small Seraph blade his father had given him for his birthday the year before, how maybe if he could get it, he could fight off this man who had invaded his home. But as he lost more blood, he was thinking of nothing at all save how cold he suddenly felt. He had collapsed in his bedroom, death coming for him greedily, when Magnus Bane arrived. Jace didn’t remember exactly what happened after that. He recalled only the feel of Magnus’s hands, the burn of the healing rune as it was laid against his torn throat, and the pain as life flooded back into him.

“Jace?” Clary asked again.

“It was,” he murmured. “I almost died here, but Magnus Bane came… He was a close friend of my mother’s…”

Jace moved out of his room as if drawn by an invisible string. On the creamy wall outside his room, untouched by water-stains or plants, was the faintly-scorched circle where Magnus Bane’s magic had seeped into the wall. The warlock’s runes still remained, faintly imprinted on the pale paint. 

He went down the hallway to his parents’ bedroom. His mother had died here, giving her last breath to protect her son and her last ounce of strength to summon Magnus for help. The room was how Jace remembered it though the neatly-made bed was now dusty. His mother’s vanity table was spread with weapons and make-up, her brush lying beside her favorite blade. His father’s dresser drawers were pulled open, his tie looped around the bedpost where Jace’s mother would tie it every morning. In a large trunk at the foot of their bed, all their Shadowhunting gear was inside. The fireplace was still filled with ash, seeming to hum in the back of Jace’s mind. His mother had used the fire to call for Magnus and then…

The pool of blood lay dark, seeped into the floorboards, in the center of the room. 

Jace turned away, bile rising in the back of his throat. Clary was gazing at him, her face calm and sorrowful. She offered her hand to him, but he didn’t take it. Instead, she came to stand beside him and their shoulders just barely brushed. They stood in silence for a long time. 

“She died here,” Jace whispered. “And I would have died down the hall.”

“What about your father?” Clary asked softly.

Jace wet his lips. “Downstairs,” he breathed and turned away from the place where his mother had died.

He led Clary on a winding path through the manor, going through the kitchen where the oven hung open as if waiting for something. He closed it absently, trailing his fingertips over the refrigerator. Faded pictures and childish drawings hung there still. 

In the living room, signs of a struggle were apparent. This was the place where Jace’s father, Stephen Herondale, had fought for not only his own life, but also the lives of his wife and young son. The couch had been overturned, stuffing spilling out. A family photograph lay smashed on the floor, the fireplace implements were strewn about and darkened with blood, and there were dark stains everywhere. Several weapons were still stuck in the walls. At the base of the hearth, there was a dark pool where Jace’s father had once lay dying. Jace remembered watching the fight go out of his father and Valentine’s final blow fell on his helpless back. After that, his mother had taken him, fleeing upstairs.

Jace approached the fireplace, reaching up his hand to trail his fingers over the crest of the heron in flight. It was carved into the marble, shimmering in the sunlight. Just above it, a Latin phrase was inscribed in fine gold script. 

“My father always said that someday I would help the heron fly,” Jace murmured more to himself than to Clary. “I wonder what he meant.”

“Could it have been about the angel?” she asked.

Jace rolled his shoulders. “I don’t know. I didn’t even know there was an angel in my house.” His voice dropped. “Too young, I guess.”

“Do you know what it means?” Clary asked, gesturing to the Latin phrase that rose above the heron like golden clouds.

Jace nodded and read aloud, “Alis grave nil. Nothing is heavy to those with wings.” (2)

Clary gazed up at the crest. “That sounds like it could be about an angel.”

Jace nodded, wet his lips, and stretched out his hand as far as he could reach. He ran his fingers along the heron’s outspread wings, feeling the perfect carving of each feather. Then, he began to search for any hidden mechanism that would reveal a secret location. It made sense that the angel his family had been protecting for centuries would be at the center of the house behind the heron crest, but he didn’t find anything. The crest remained still and the fireplace was stained dark with his father’s blood. 

Jace leaned his head against the cool marble and breathed out, “Please. Please open. Please do something.”

“Jace,” Clary murmured and reached out to touch his back.

He let out a shuddering breath and swore he saw the carved feathers of the heron move. He jolted back, breath escaping his lungs in a rush. All at once, golden light shimmered on the carved heron, shining and glimmering. It looked as if the heron were taking flight even if it appeared to be only a trick of the stone brought on by Jace’s breath. Then, slowly, grinding loudly, the fireplace slid open and revealed a dark staircase that led down beneath the house.

“Help the heron fly,” Jace breathed out.

Clary smiled at him. “Breath,” she said. “The breath of a Herondale. That’s why my father couldn’t open it no matter what he tried.”

Jace took her hand and led her down the stairs into the darkness. He was fishing for his witchlight when the darkness fell away like a curtain being pulled back. After all, this was the angel’s sanctuary, the angel’s haven and home. It was a welcoming place, full of light and scented with flowers. It was not a dungeon. The room was pleasantly small and decorated lavishly in shades of blue and gold and violet. It looked very much like the sky at dusk, filled with plush pillows and flowers that would never die and fruits that would never spoil. (It was rather like the inside of the ‘I Dream of Jeannie’ bottle.) 

Seated on a mound of pillows at the center of the room was the angel. She was lovely. Her skin was porcelain pale, her face was framed with short golden tresses, and she was wearing a simple dress of pale blue satin that tied in a neat bow behind her neck to leave her back bare. But she certainly looked as if she had fallen from heaven. Though her wings were fanned out beautifully behind her, closer inspection revealed that they were crooked and most likely broken. A strip of satin to match her dress had been tied across her eyes.

“Who’s there?” she said and her voice was like music. “Stephen?”

Jace’s mouth ran dry and Clary froze beside him, but Jace couldn’t help but feel as if he had been waiting for this moment. He released Clary’s hand and approached the angel.

“Where is Stephen?” the angel asked, lifting her hand. “Who are you?”

“I’m Jace,” he whispered to her. “Jace Way—Herondale.”

The angel’s lips pulled in a faint smile. “Way-Heronadale?”

Jace cleared his throat, flushing, and tried again. “I’m Jace Herondale.”

Her hand was still outstretched to him, waiting. She had beautiful fingers, long and thin, with perfectly-rounded nails. Jace took her hand felt the angel touch every inch of him. He felt her in his mind, in his heart, in his memories. Sadness lined her face and a single tear slipped from beneath the cloth over her eyes.

“Oh, Jace,” she whispered. “I’m so sorry for your loss.”

He couldn’t speak, just gazed wonderingly at her.

She pulled him closer, reaching to hold his hand in both of hers. As she did, she froze abruptly. “Who… who is here with you?”

“My friend, Clary, is here with me,” he told the angel. “It’s alright.” 

The angel’s hands convulsed in his grasp. “No,” she whispered and fear lined her face. “No.”

Jace turned to face Clary with a small smile still on his face. For a moment, he saw only her. She looked beautiful with her ruby-red hair catching the glow of the angel’s chamber. But then, he saw the shadow at her back and he heard the deep voice speak. The angel cried out in fear and he moved to hide her from view.

“Well done, Clarissa,” said the shadowed figure behind Clary.

And there wasn’t a night in Jace’s life when he didn’t hear that voice in his nightmares.

…

Night had fallen like a pitch-black blanket over New York City even if its people didn’t sleep. Jace still hadn’t returned and Isabelle and Alec’s attempts to locate him in his usual haunts had yielded nothing. They might have let it go as nothing since Jace often went missing for hours at a time if not for the fact that Valentine Morgenstern’s daughter was most likely involved. That, and Jace had been missing for nearly twenty-four hours now. They didn’t want to risk losing Jace and weren’t taking any chances now.

It was a bit of a challenge for Alec to find Magnus Bane’s contact information. Hodge didn’t exactly leave behind a Rolodex organized by species and specialty. In the end, Isabelle had found a way to contact Magnus via a party invitation that she had picked up at a faerie club downtown. 

Alec wrote the warlock a note and threw it into the fire. He knew Magnus often came to the Institute when Jace was concerned though he had never been told specifically why the warlock cared so much for Jace. After a moment, a response come through the fire, but neither Alec nor Isabelle really understood how to read it since the letters kind of danced along the flames like tiny demons too fast for anyone who didn’t know what they were doing to read. It was their first time contacting a warlock, anyway.

But a moment later, the Institute’s doorbell was ringing loudly and the siblings scurried to answer it. Magnus Bane looked different from the last time they had seen him. He was wearing a black leather trench coat that seemed to be dripping in jewels at the edges. His eyes were framed with dark lines and his lashes sparkled with glitter. The only thing remotely normal about him was how his dark hair hung in long unstyled sheets around his handsome face. His catlike eyes traced over the Lightwood siblings before he spoke.

“Where is Jace?” the warlock asked.

“That’s just it,” Isabelle said. “We don’t know.”

“He’s been missing all day,” Alec put in.

“Did you try looking for him?” Magnus asked.

Isabelle glared at her brother. “We looked everywhere.”

“Everywhere?”

“Everywhere,” Isabelle repeated.

“I don’t even think he’s in New York City anymore,” Alec told the warlock. “And there’s been so much activity with Valentine lately that I’m worried something happened to him. Valentine tried to kill him when he was just a child and murdered his parents.”

“I know,” Magnus said. “I’m the one who saved him.”

Alec’s mouth dropped open.

Magnus turned to Isabelle. “I need something of his so I can track him.”

“Like what?” she asked.

“Something with his essence attached to it.”

“Like a toothbrush or a hairbrush?” 

Magnus shook his head. “Closer than that. It has to be personal.”

“Like a favorite sweater or something?” Isabelle asked.

“Precisely,” Magnus said.

“One problem,” Alec put in, “Our rooms were trashed in Valentine’s invasion and we had to buy new everything, especially Jace and Isabelle.”

“What about his favorite weapon?”

“He took it with him.”

Magnus sighed heavily and pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Wait,” Isabelle said suddenly, her fingers pressed to her chin. “What about… blood?”

“That’ll work.”

Isabelle led the warlock into the Institute’s foyer where Jace had sat on the shredded Victorian sofa just the night before with his feet burned down to the bone. His blood still stained the floor since Isabelle had been too worried for him to start cleaning it up. Magnus knelt beside the puddle of dried blood and stretched out his hand. Blue sparks leapt from his fingertips, but then faded yet he continued to kneel there. The Lightwood siblings weren’t certain of exactly what they had expected, but it was oddly boring to watch Magnus track Jace. 

Suddenly, Magnus’s head jerked up and he breathed out hard. “He’s at the Herondale manor.”

“That’s weird—” Isabelle began but Magnus cut her off.

“There’s more,” he said. “Clarissa Morgenstern is with him and so is Valentine.”

X X X

Quite the vicious cliffhanger, huh? Now what does everyone think about Clary? Well, if reviews don't improve, I'm chopping this story back to one update per week instead of two.

(1) I’m basing the Herondale manor on one of my favorite decaying mansions—the Tyersall House. You can find pictures of it easily on Google if you’d like to check it out (especially the staircase). It really is a remarkable house that shouldn’t have been torn down.

(2) “Alis grave nil” does mean “Nothing is heavy to those with wings.” I spent a good twenty minutes looking through Latin phrases to find one I liked and suited my purposes.

Questions, comments, concerns?


	29. The Angel, The Boy, The Villain

Merry Almost-Christmas everyone! (I probably won’t be able to update because of the holidays so hang tight!)

X X X

_“Clarissa Morgenstern is with him and so is Valentine.”_

Isabelle was pretty sure her heart stopped beating for a full minute after Magnus Bane spoke. Her mouth opened, but no sound came out save a strangled gasp of breath that might have once been Jace’s name. Her throat closed over anything she had hoped to say to the warlock, choking her. She turned helplessly to Alec, but he looked to be in just the same state as she was. His face was ghost-pale. The rune on his neck was standing out like ink against cream and his pulse was hammering wildly. 

“We have to go,” Magnus said. He swept himself away from Jace’s dried blood with a flap of his bejeweled trench coat and turned towards the wall. “It might already be too late.” Magnus lifted his hands, fingers tracing runes on the wall in bright blue, and formed a Portal in minutes. “Let’s go,” he said to the two young Shadowhunters. “There’s no time.”

Isabelle already had her whip curled at her hip like an obedient snake from when she and Alec had gone out to search for Jace earlier in the day. Alec spared mere seconds to grab his bow from the hall closet and he already carried several short blades at his waist. Magnus stepped into the bright blue rend of the Portal, the glitter on his face catching magnificently. Alec and Isabelle plunged after him without a moment’s hesitation.

Church was watching from the threshold of the foyer and mewled sorrowfully as the Portal closed up as if it never was.

…

“Well done, Clarissa.” 

Jace moved between Valentine Morgenstern and the angel, separating them with his body. His hands fumbled blindly at his waist, searching for a weapon, but he had none. They were in all in the rucksack that he had handed Clary when the first arrived and she was still carrying it over her shoulder. If he dove for her—dove for the weapons—Valentine would stop him in a second. He was defenseless, all except for the witchlight stone in his pocket and his mouth which ran as if it was runaway freight train only nothing clever was coming out now. He was too stricken, the taste of Clary’s lips still seeming to linger on his.

“You lied to me,” he hissed at Clary. “You’ve been working with Valentine all along.”

She didn’t say anything, whether to refute or accept his scathing words.

Valentine reached out a hand, passing it over the loose tendrils of Clary’s blood-red hair. “You found the Herondale’s angel,” he murmured to his daughter, ignoring Jace completely. 

Hugo was sitting on Valentine’s shoulder, his eyes bright and beady, but they set familiarly on Jace. For a moment, he couldn’t help but remember how Clary had reacted in the dungeon so long ago when they had spoken of pets. She had reacted to Hugo’s name then. Was it because she had known? Had she always known, planned on this betrayal and Hodge’s? Jace felt sick, cold sweat breaking out on the back of his neck.

The angel cried out, lifting her hands like a thin shield. “Who’s there? Who is that?”

Jace pulled the witchlight stone from his pocket and clenched it against his palm. It wasn’t much of a weapon but it was certainly harder than his knuckles. “Stay back,” he snarled at Valentine.

Valentine lifted a pale brow, his eyes raking over Jace. Then, he chuckled, “You’re still here? You decided to keep your pretty boy, did you, Clarissa?”

Her green eyes gleamed in her pale face, but she was still silent.

Jace tensed, his shoulders pulling back and his heart sputtering to stone in his chest. “Clary,” he spat out. “Why?”

Valentine threw his head back and laughed, laughed like the monster he was. Jace remembered hearing such laughter after Valentine butchered his mother and slit his throat, but then the laughter had been cut short by Magnus Bane’s arrival. Jace wanted nothing more than to choke off Valentine’s laughter right now, but he was almost totally unarmed and he had the angel to think about.

The angel took a deep breath and then said, “Valentine Morgenstern.”

“I wasn’t certain you remembered me,” he said with a hideous grin.

The angel’s face was hard beneath the strip of silk over her eyes. “Stephen’s blood dripped through the floor that night,” she said icily. “I heard his wife screaming. I felt her love for her child as she fought to protect him. I had hoped that they survived somehow, but I see that they did not.”

Then, the angel reached out and curled her fingers around Jace’s wrist in a motion so slow that Valentine didn’t even notice. All at once, strength and confidence flooded every cell of his being, but it was also much more than that. In a way he hadn’t felt since he was very small, Jace felt the embrace of his father and mother like a warning and comfort.

When Valentine reached to grab the angel, she didn’t even flinch, but Jace moved as if he had been shot from a canon. He had only the witchlight in his hand and he slammed it into the side of Valentine’s head, letting the weight and hard stone add strength to the naked blow. 

Valentine reeled back, cursing, and Hugo was displaced from his shoulder in a flap of dark wings. The bird dove at Jace, all bright eyes and sharp talons with a terrible cry. Jace caught Hugo’s claws between his fingers, swung the bird around, and sent him flying into a mound of cushions to the angel’s left. He couldn’t bear to hurt Hugo, no matter the circumstances. 

Valentine was back on his feet, pulling a shining black blade from his waist. He towered over Jace like he had the night he murdered the Herondales, his eyes like craters in the moon’s pale face. “I should have killed you when I had the chance.”

“You should have,” Jace snarled.

Valentine lunged at him with the dark blade. Jace stumbled back, his hands empty of anything he could use to parry the knife. The edge of a woven mat caught his feet, tripping him up, and for a moment, he was certain it was all over. But the angel pressed her hands to his back, steadied him, and he was able to surge forward to meet Valentine head-on. Again, Jace landed a heavy blow to Valentine’s face with the witchlight stone in his hand. It blazed with light sharply, blinding Valentine, and Jace managed to wrest the blade from his hand.

Valentine hissed like a wounded animal and produced a sword from behind his back. He dove at Jace again, but the boy was a flurry of blazing stones and shining stolen blades. With the angel against his back, seated on her cushions like a watchful queen, Jace was able to keep Valentine at bay. It felt like there was nothing he couldn’t do.

Clary stood silently with Hugo perched on her shoulder and still holding all of Jace’s weapons. She watched her father and the boy who was kind to her fight with an indifferent expression. 

Occasionally, Jace glanced over at Clary, unable to believe that she had really betrayed him. How could she had been so close to him, so sweet and innocent, only to do this? How could she have slept in his arms during the night? How could she have kissed him on the subway? How could she be so beautiful and still be Valentine Morgenstern’s daughter? How could she have been planning to betray him all this time? The evidence was right in front of him and he still couldn’t believe she would do such a thing.

“Jace!” the angel’s warning came almost too late.

Valentine’s blade sank into Jace’s shoulder, but Jace was already sweeping his stolen blade up in an arch to meet Valentine in the middle. He nearly gutted Valentine, blood spraying over his face and chest in a fountain. Valentine’s dark eyes went wide and he quickly stumbled back with both hands pressed over the gaping wound in his middle. Jace pulled Valentine’s sword from his shoulder and whipped it out in a semicircle, spraying his own blood all over Valentine’s face.

Then, he said cheekily, “Now, I have two swords. Want to give me some more?”

Valentine’s lip curled back over his teeth in a display of complete rage. He had finally lost his cool.

“Father,” Clary said and finally moved. She pulled Jace’s Stele from the bag she carried and knelt at Valentine’s side. The healing rune came quickly to her and Jace watched in horror as Valentine’s injury healed without a trace. It seemed sacrilegious that his own Stele was helping his enemy instead of him.

Valentine’s cool expression flooded back. “Thank you, Clarissa.”

Clary’s green eyes flashed to Jace for just an instant, but he couldn’t decipher her expression.

Valentine rose to his feet smoothly and stood proudly before his daughter. Jace kept himself in front of the angel, protecting her. They looked like a pair of gallant knights facing off to defend their fine maidens, but then Valentine pulled a small throwing dagger from his belt. He didn’t throw it at Jace. Instead, he whirled towards his daughter. The blade flew from his fingers and sailed towards Clary, carving a path through the air. Her eyes widened, her lips parting in a small cry, and then Jace was in front of her. 

He wasn’t even sure what had given him the strength to move that quickly. Was it the angel? Maybe some watchful god or the spirits of his parents? Or was it the warmth in his chest that was suddenly blooming like a flower? All he knew was that he couldn’t let Clary be hurt. He knocked aside the small dagger with a clatter and Valentine grinned broadly like a crocodile. Clary’s sharp exhale of breath was warm on the back of his neck and he felt her fingers curl in the back of his shirt, but he jerked away from her. Now he was between Clary and Valentine, the angel too far from him to be properly protected.

“You broke him, Clarissa,” Valentine said suddenly.

Jace’s heart skipped a beat, coldness seeping through every fiber of his being.

“You broke him,” Valentine repeated. “I told you to make him obedient, but instead you taught him to love you. You’ve broken him.”

Jace turned to look at Clary, his mouth opening, but he wasn’t certain what he would have said if he had ever gotten the chance. Valentine pulled a second dagger from his waist and hurled it towards Jace. It glinted in the bright light like a burning star. Jace whirled away from the blade as if in slow motion, pain spearing through his injured shoulder, but he knew he wasn’t fast enough. Death breathed hotly on the back of his neck, greedily, gulping. 

Suddenly, Clary’s hand flashed out. For one moment, Jace saw the rune carved into her palm very clearly. It looked jagged and painful, burning white-hot against her pale skin. The last thing he heard was the angel screaming his name followed by the hiss of Valentine’s dagger missing him by inches and clattering to the floor. 

Then, the whole world went black.

…

Magnus Bane stepped through the wall in the same place where he had ten years ago on the night Celine Herondale had called to him in desperate attempt to save her son from Valentine. He was almost certain that the dark stains on the floor were from Jace’s blood from all those years ago. Then, Alec practically fell through the Portal after the warlock, colliding harshly into Magnus’s back. Isabelle stepped out behind her brother with a gasp of breath. 

Magnus led them quickly through the halls to the place he had seen in his vision, winding a path downstairs. In the living room, Stephen’s blood was still darkly pooled in front of the fireplace, but the hidden door was open. It was dark inside and painfully deathly quiet. Isabelle remained tight at Magnus’s side, her whip whispering as she uncoiled it. Alec slid in front of them and descended the stairs first, his Seraph blade shining like a misplaced firefly in the dark.

The angel’s chamber was empty save for two pools of dark blood on the floor, one large and one rather small.

“We’re too late,” Magnus said.

Isabelle made a bleak sound in her throat.

X X X

Oh, painful cliffhanger.

Questions, comments, concerns?

Review!


	30. The Dungeon

**IMPORTANT: READ!** Okay, so… I won’t be updating Thursday or next Monday because my grandmother has come to visit me from New Jersey and I want to spend time with her. She leaves next Monday at six o’clock in the morning and I have to drive her three hours to the airport so I’ll be up at two and totally beat that day. I’ll try to update some time after next Monday. **THANKS!**

X X X

Jace woke on the cold floor of a stone dungeon with iron bars. His left wrist had been shackled to the wall and the wound in his shoulder was still bleeding sluggishly. Faint sunlight was filtering through the small barred window overhead, so dim that he could barely make out his surroundings. It looked as if the weapons he had gained during his fight with Valentine were gone, but he could see the shape of his witchlight lying on the stones a few feet away. He heaved himself into a sitting position, grasped the witchlight, and willed light into it. Warm bright light filled the cell, chasing away the shadows.

In the sudden brightness, Jace realized he wasn’t alone in the dungeon. Crouched on the other side of the bars like a pretty gargoyle was Clary. Her blood-red hair was swept across her bare shoulders and her skin was porcelain pale. She was wearing a pretty green dress and heavy combat boots. Jace fought back anything he wanted to think about her beauty and curled his fingers tightly over the witchlight. Darkness swarmed in, hiding the expression in Clary’s eyes and the pulse beating in her throat. 

“What do you want?” he snarled at her.

She didn’t say anything. Instead, she wordlessly tumbled a roll of gauze bandages towards him between the bars of the cell. Jace threw them at her despite the hideous pain that raced through his shoulder at the motion. He clasped his hand just under the wound as if that would somehow stop the pain and hot fresh blood oozed over his fingers. The bandages struck Clary harmlessly in the face, but she wordlessly slid them to Jace again. This time, he held onto them, his fingers mashing into the soft material. 

“What are you trying to pull?” he hissed.

She sat down on the stones, folding her legs beneath her without a word. She was holding her hand lightly, her thumb stroking across the palm where her power flowed from. She had once again attacked him, just like before. He should never have trusted her. As if sensing his bitter thoughts, she gazed at him through the bars without speaking. Maybe she knew there was nothing she could say. Her eyes looked soft and sad in the glow of the witchlight, her lips were slightly parted and chapped, and her pulse was beating hard in her throat.

“Where is the angel?” he demanded.

Clary didn’t respond.

Unbidden, Jace’s mouth said, “How could you do this to me?”

She looked at him through the bars of the cell, her fingers intertwined lightly in her lap. She picked at the hem of her dress, fiddling with the old-fashioned pale green lace that was sewn there without answering. The witchlight played prettily on her face, catching in her green eyes and blood-red hair.

Jace’s mouth continued like a separate entity, barreling away as if it had been pushed off a cliff and was trapped in this downward spiral of words, questions, and accusations. “Did you kiss me so I would trust you?” he demanded. “Is it like how you feel about sex and rape? That it doesn’t matter so long as you’re getting what you want? It’s all just a means to an end to you, isn’t it?”

Clary flinched as if he had struck her, but didn’t protest. She hadn’t said anything since Valentine had arrived in the Herondale manor to steal the angel and attacked Jace. Her lips were chapped and bloodied at the corners, as if she had been biting back everything she wanted to say.

“Why are you keeping me here?” he snarled at her.

She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and tugged at the low heart-shaped bodice of her dress. Her breasts swelled as she breathed and Jace looked away, fighting back the thoughts he had earlier about kissing and touching her. She was Valentine Morgenstern’s daughter—nothing was going to change that.

“You won’t get what you want,” Jace snapped. “Alec and Isabelle will come for me.”

Wordlessly, as if hearing a call that Jace couldn’t, she turned away from the cell. She rose to her feet with a rustle of fabric and walked away without a backwards glance. Her combat boots made hollow sounds on the stone floor like a torn heart beating inside an empty coffin. Distantly, Jace heard a door slam shut and he knew he was alone.

…

Night was falling swiftly.

“What do you mean you can’t find him?” Alec demanded, pacing back and forth behind Magnus Bane in the hidden room beneath the Herondale manor. He was careful to step over the warlock’s long bejeweled trench coat with each pass he made behind him. 

Isabelle was seated on a pallet of beautiful cushions, just watching with her dark eyes wide and empty.

Magnus was crouched at the small puddle of half-dried blood, focusing hard on tracking Jace. “It isn’t an exact science, Alec,” he said irritably. “Contrary to your belief, a tracking spell doesn’t actually give any real location. It merely lets you see what the person you’re tracking is seeing. And all Jace is seeing right now is iron bars. I can’t find him.”

Alec let out a hard frustrated breath. 

Magnus swept himself to his feet and moved to the other puddle of blood. This one was much larger and it didn’t seem possible that this person was still alive, but it was worth a try regardless. Magnus was slightly shocked that the spell not only worked, but came quickly into focus. 

“This is Valentine’s blood,” Magnus whispered.

“What?” Alec gasped.

“Is he dead?” Isabelle asked.

Magnus shook his head. “No, he’s very much alive and so is Clarissa Morgenstern.”

“Clary is with him?” Isabelle breathed out. “Oh Angel, he got her, too.”

Magnus shook his head again. “No,” was all he said.

Isabelle sucked in a breath, her heart skipping a beat. 

Alec froze mid-pace and the blood drained from his face. “What?”

“It looks like she’s been working with her father all along,” Magnus told the two young Shadowhunters as he peered into whatever it was he was seeing behind his closed eyes. “Valentine is talking to her. They’re in a building somewhere with plain walls.”

“Where?” Alec asked.

“I can’t tell,” Magnus said and his cat-like eyes slid open. “There was no landmark that I could see.”

“We have to find Jace!” Alec shouted at the warlock. “Do something!”

Magnus stayed Alec with an easy wave of his hand, cutting off the angry words. “We will,” he assured them, “but we’re going to need help from someone who knows more about Valentine than we do. Someone who’s been tracking Valentine’s movements for years.”

“Who?” Isabelle asked.

“Lucian Graymark, better known as Luke Garroway. He’s been leading a small coup against Valentine for years, aided by Downworlders,” Magnus said, “and once led by Jocelyn Fairchild-Morgenstern.”

…

Jace spent the next period of time alternately trying to jerk his wrist free of the cuff and whimpering about the agony tearing through his shoulder with each movement. The wound continued to bleed sluggishly. He hated to admit it, but Valentine was a great warrior. Grudgingly, he used the bandages Clary had brought him to bind his shoulder. Wrapped inside the roll of gauze, he found some herbs to take away the pain and pressed them into the wound like Isabelle would have. Hissing, he bound his shoulder and then reclined against the stone wall.

The shackle was cold and strong. No force that he possessed was going to get him free anytime soon. All he was doing was ripping apart his skin and damaging his bones. If he kept it up, he knew his wrist would break and then he’d be in worse shape. It wasn’t as if he could squeeze between the iron bars of the cell anyway. He stared at his witchlight, grateful for its glow. He wondered if Clary had left it for him and then chased those thoughts away with a torch and pitchfork. 

Night had fallen outside the little window. He could hear owls hooting in the darkness and crickets were chirping. 

He was certain Isabelle and Alec were looking for him. By now, they would have noticed he was missing. They would have expected him back by nightfall at the absolute latest, but probably would have gone looking for him around mid-afternoon. When they didn’t find him picking fights in Central Park or lounging at any of his usual haunts, they would be worried. 

Hopefully, they would contact a warlock to help find him—maybe Magnus Bane. Magnus had always liked Jace and came around occasionally to check on him. Magnus used to be a friend of his mother’s and had saved Jace from certain death the night of Valentine’s attack. Magnus would be able to track Jace easily.

Hopefully, Alec and Isabelle were that smart and wouldn’t go to Clary’s little coup to oppose Valentine. For all Jace knew, the whole thing had been a set-up and his friends would walk right into a trap if they returned there. He tried not to think about how kind Luke had been or how funny Simon was. They could have been working for Valentine all along, just like Clary was.

Jace tugged lamely at his shackle and then leaned his head back against the stone wall. Curling his fingers around his witchlight stone, he closed his eyes and tried to sleep. If Valentine or Clary came back down and gave him any opportunity to escape, he wanted to be in good condition to take advantage of the situation. 

But it was nearly impossible to sleep in a place like this. It was freezing, the cold of the stone seeping into his body, and uncomfortable. He couldn’t imagine how Clary must have felt being locked in the Institute’s dungeon for all that time. This was something very close to hell on earth.

Abruptly, Jace heard footsteps. He sat up, light flooding out from the witchlight in his hand. Part of him hoped it was Clary, but another part of him wished he would never have to see her face again. Another part of him, burning white-hot with vengeance, hoped it was Valentine. 

Instead, it was a young man roughly his own age that Jace didn’t recognize, but the family resemblance was enough of a tip-off. He had white-pale hair and deep dark eyes, just like Valentine did. For a moment, Jace puzzled over the fact that Clary looked nothing like her father before he pushed those thoughts away again.

“Who are you?” Jace demanded.

The youth smirked at him through the bars and set down a tray. He slid the tray to Jace with one hand and Jace stopped it with his hand. The smell of hot barbecue assaulted him and his mouth watered, but he pushed the tray away. Just as Clary had been unable to trust him, he couldn’t trust anyone here.

“Don’t you think if we wanted to kill you, we would have done it already?” the young man asked.

Jace curled his lip back over his teeth. “Who knows? Maybe you want to keep be around for my dashing good looks.”

The young man’s smirk widened and his black eyes raked over Jace. “I wouldn’t mind using you up,” he began.

A shudder ran through Jace’s body, goose bumps breaking out all over his skin.

“But my sister wants to keep you,” he continued, “maybe as a pet or something. My father has decided to indulge her because she was raped by some Shadowhunters and a couple demons. He always gives her whatever she wants after that. My father told her that you wouldn’t be harmed or… defiled.” His pitch-black eyes were like craters in his face.

Jace’s mouth was suddenly bone-dry and his throat closed over the witty words he had planned to speak.

The youth smirked and rose to his feet, brushing some invisible filth off his jeans. “I’m Jonathon Morgenstern,” he said smoothly. “You’d do best to remember that.”

Jace snapped back to himself, his own lips curving into a wicked grin. “Remember that? I didn’t even know Valentine had a son. I only ever heard about his daughter,” he taunted the other youth. “Man, he must be embarrassed by you.”

Jonathon paused a moment, his shoulders rigid, and Jace thought he had managed to get under his skin when he turned around. His pale face was decorated with the widest smirk, as if he was the cat that had finally managed to get the canary. “Or maybe,” he said silkily, “that’s only what my father wanted you to think.”

…

“We’ve already been to the coup,” Isabelle told Magnus. “Clary brought us there.”

Magnus actually looked surprised. Well, if the fractional widening of his eyes could be called ‘looking surprised.’ His tone of voice as he asked, “Really?” was what gave him away.

Isabelle nodded. “Yeah, after Hodge kidnapped her and brought her to Valentine, we followed her to Renwick’s Smallpox Hospital. Jace went inside to get her out and then they escaped through the Five-Dimensional Door. Clary brought Jace to Luke’s coup in Chinatown and they sent a vampire to collect Alec and me since we were still waiting at Renwick’s.”

“We’ve even been to Luke’s house,” Alec added uselessly. “He runs a bookshop.”

Magnus smiled faintly. “Well, you three certainly get around.”

Isabelle tucked some dark hair behind her ear and wrapped her whip around her forearm like countless silver bracelets. “Are we going?” she asked Magnus.

The warlock nodded. Alec produced a witchlight and followed Magnus upstairs to where he had opened his Portal before. It was easier to use his magic in a place where he already had—once now and once all those years ago when Valentine had attacked and murdered the Herondales. The runes were still standing out like faint scars on the wall, residual magic hanging in the air like smoke. 

For a moment, Magnus looked down the hallway towards the bedroom Celine had once shared with Stephen during their short married years. Part of him wanted to walk down the hall, just to look, just to see if her blood was still on the floorboards. But Alec’s fingers curled through the crook of Magnus’s elbow as if he sensed these morbid thoughts. When Magnus turned to look at the youth, Alec just shook his head without a word. 

Isabelle was standing a few feet back, her dark eyes seeming to pull in all the fading sunlight. Alec took her hand and pulled her close. It was obvious to Magnus that they were both thinking about their missing parents, but they were each thinking something very different. There was hope in Isabelle’s mouth, in her hair and skin, and yet Alec held no hope for his parents’ safe return. He suspected they were already dead, just like Jace’s parents were.

“Let’s go,” Alec said and his voice was far stronger than Magnus had expected.

Within minutes, Magnus opened a new Portal and the trio stepped into the blinding light.

X X X

Remember, I won't be able to update until sometime after next Monday.

Questions, comments, concerns?


	31. One Phone Call

Ooh, has it ever been a rough morning (I had to get up at one in the morning to drive three hours to get to the airport and then come all the way back home) and a rough past week! I told everyone that my grandmother was coming to visit and she can be a real pain. (I’ve been to church three times this week and she had to walk up and down every aisle in the grocery store to ‘compare prices.’ Urg!) So, thanks for being patient and the updating schedule should be back on track now.

Enjoy!

X X X

Jace wasn’t sure when he had managed to fall asleep, but he finally had. The food Jonathon had brought down had tortured him for most of the night, keeping him up, but he resisted eating anything. He woke sharply sometime the next morning with his face mashed into the freezing stone and his wrist twisted awkwardly by the shackle. He sat up, shivering, and immediately groped through the shadows for his witchlight. Pale light flooded the cell and the tray of untouched food.

Neither Clary nor Jonathon were waiting on the other side of the bars.

Jace leaned back against the cold stone wall and watched the sunlight move across the distant ceiling where it streamed through the tiny window far above. He counseled himself that Isabelle and Alec were definitely searching for him by now and that Valentine had apparently decided that Clary could keep Jace as a pet. A little tremor of fear scurried down his spine at the memory of Jonathon’s words the night before, how Jace wouldn’t be harmed or defiled. Jace knew exactly what that meant, but he wished he didn’t.

He heard the door bang distantly and tensed. He held his breath, listening with every fiber of his being. Footsteps approached and Jace saw the gleam of pale hair.

Valentine Morgenstern appeared on the other side of the bars. He was wearing another nice three-piece suit and Jace couldn’t see any weapons, but that didn’t really mean anything. Valentine could have a demon curled up in his pocket like a hideous jack-in-the-box, ready to spring at a moment’s notice. 

“Hello, Jace Wayland,” Valentine said. “Or should I say, Jace Herondale?”

“That’s Mister Jace Herondale to you,” Jace snapped at his enemy.

“Cute,” Valentine said with a humorless chuckle. “Your father had a smart mouth, too. I should have cut out his tongue before I killed him.” He said this so plainly that it sent a chill up Jace’s spine.

Valentine took a key from his pocket and opened the cell door, pacing within an arm’s length of Jace. He wasn’t stupid enough to step into range and Jace’s fingers tightened over the witchlight in his hand. The glow cast itself like a living thing over Valentine’s pale face, but his black eyes pulled in the light. He produced a small silvery cell phone from the pocket of his slacks and handed it to Jace. For a moment, Jace just stared at the phone, uncomprehending. 

Then, Valentine spoke in a cool collected voice. “I hear you think your friends are coming to save you.”

Jace’s blood ran cold.

“Call them,” Valentine continued. “Call them and tell them not to come for you. They won’t even make it to the door. Or maybe I’ll let my men and my demons tear apart your pretty friend. What’s her name? Isabelle? I hear she’s the same age as Clarissa.” 

Jace couldn’t speak. His mouth was as dry as a desert, crawling with sand and scorpions. 

“Call them,” Valentine said with painful finality. “Call them and tell them not to come.”

Jace accepted the cell phone with numb fingers. He was always with Isabelle and Alec. He wasn’t certain he had ever spoken to them on the phone before. He barely knew the number of Alec’s cell phone and he didn’t know Isabelle’s at all. They had both wanted Jace to get a phone, but he had refused since they were always together. What did he need a phone for? Would things be different now if he had bought one when they did?

“Call them,” Valentine repeated.

“Are you afraid of them?” Jace breathed out.

Valentine’s grin was thin and full of teeth. “Call them,” he said. “There are worse things than death waiting for your friends here.”

Jace’s fingers trembled as he struggled to remember Alec’s number and pressed the phone to his ear. The ringing was long and hollow, sinking deeply into his bones and heart. The mark that bound him and Alec as parabatai felt as if it was burning into his skin. The ringing cut off sharply as Alec answered.

“Hello?” 

Jace’s throat closed over the greeting he had planned to speak. All the brave words he had wanted to say dried up.

“Hello?” Alec asked again. “Who’s there?”

Valentine’s smirk widened, glowing white in the darkness of the cell. 

Jace tightened his grip on the phone, his breath rasping in his lungs. He could hear voices behind the sound of Alec’s breath. He thought he could hear Isabelle and Magnus Bane, but there were other voices beyond them.

The bond of parabatai was closer than that of brothers, of parents, of true love. Somehow, even though Jace hadn’t spoken, Alec somehow sensed him on the line. Or maybe it was just a guess brought on by Alec’s obvious worry. Either way, he asked the silence, “Jace?”

Jace’s breath rushed from his lungs. “Alec,” he breathed out.

“Jace? Jace!” Alec gasped, practically shouting. The other voices went silent in the background. “What happened? Where are you?”

“Valentine,” Jace whispered. “I’m with Valentine. Clary—she—”

Valentine pulled a knife from seemingly nowhere and the blade gleamed in the glow of Jace’s witchlight. 

Jace jolted, pressing back against the stone wall of the cell. His fingers convulsed around the phone, tightening until his fingertips went numb from the pressure. “Alec, don’t,” he whispered. “Don’t come looking for me, okay. Promise me.”

“Jace, what—”

“Promise me,” Jace hissed between clenched teeth. “Promise me, Alec.”

There was a moment of silence. Jace could hear raised voices shouting in the background. Alec shouted something and it fell painfully silence. For a moment, Jace thought the call had been dropped and he was listening to dead air. Then, Alec returned and Jace’s relief was potent.

“I promise,” Alec whispered. “Jace… take care of yourself.”

“I will,” Jace murmured. “Just don’t come… trust me.”

Valentine stretched out his hand, plucked the phone from Jace’s grasp, and ended the call with a click. Jace stared at him with mingled hatred, fear, and rage. 

“Wise choice,” Valentine said coolly.

Jace lunged at him, but the chain connected to his wrist jerked him back harshly. One of the small bones in his wrist cracked, sending a shock of pain through his arm, but he yanked as hard as he could against the shackle. Valentine stood just out of reach, smirking. 

“Don’t you dare hurt them!” Jace shouted at Valentine.

Valentine chuckled as he turned and walked away without a word. Jace screamed threats and promises at his back, but Valentine never even slowed his pace. The door slammed distantly and Jace was alone again. How had Valentine known about Isabelle and Alec? There was only one possibility—Jace had insisted to Clary that Isabelle and Alec were coming for him and Clary had told her father. If he had signed their death warrants, he would never forgive himself. But before that, he would make Clary pay dearly.

…

Jonathon was waiting at the top of the basement stairs when his father came up from the dungeon. Valentine snapped the cell phone shut and tucked it into his pocket. He glanced at Jonathon, but didn’t speak to tell his son anything. Jonathon fell into step beside Valentine like a dog begging for scraps. 

“Did he cave?” Jonathon asked curiously.

Valentine nodded. “Yes,” he said. “It is a simple matter to accomplish once you know who someone loves.”

“And what about Clarissa?”

“What about your sister?”

“You told me that the Herondale boy loves her,” Jonathon said.

“He might not be certain of it yet, but he tried to protect her with his life. He’ll come to love her,” Valentine said coolly.

“Are you just going to let that be?” Jonathon demanded.

Valentine slid his son a sidelong glance, dark eyes like twin spears to fix Jonathon in place. “Clarissa suffered a lot at the hands of the Shadowhunters and the Institute. Perhaps she’s looking for a little revenge. So long as she wants him, she may have him. She’s just like her mother, after all.”

Jonathon smirked. “He’s just a tool, isn’t he? For her and for us?”

Valentine resumed walking down the hallway without answering.

…

The Herondale’s angel was sitting in silence on the velveteen couch. Her blind eyes closed lightly beneath the strip of pale satin that covered them. She could hear the sounds of night, smell the scent of darkness, and feel the coolness of the air. Where ever she was, it was distant from the pollution of the city.

“Amaranth?” came a voice. (1)

She ignored the speaker, her heart hardened with anger and loss. She stretched her hands across the velvet couch cushions, feeling for something, for anything. This place was nothing like her sanctuary beneath the Herondale manor. She could feel the press of demons here, watching her every move even if she could not see them.

“He’s going to move you… to take you away.”

Amaranth still did not answer, even if the words made her heart clench. Her wings, fragile and emaciated with disuse, were spread out behind her like a cloak. The feathers felt sore to her very soul, aching like a wound. And yes, it was the angel in her very veins that hurt her so. It was because of this that Valentine wanted her.

…

Magnus, Alec, and Isabelle were standing the threshold of the police station disguised as a Chinese restaurant where Luke’s coup was holed up for the night. Luke and Simon were looking at them oddly, recognizing Alec and Isabelle, but not entirely certain about the oddly-dressed warlock covered in glitter. Luke was getting a little tired of strange things taking place in the wee hours of the morning. It was never good news, especially when Clary and Valentine were involved, especially when someone as young as Jace was missing.

They were half-way to a full-fledged argument when Alec’s phone started ringing. It was so loud and obnoxious that it cut through the tense voices. Alec quickly rummaged through his many pockets and pulled out the brightly-lit device. He answered and pressed it to his ear. “Hello?”

There was thin silence on the other end of the line, but he could hear the faint rasp of someone breathing.

“Hello?” Alec asked again. “Who’s there?”

Isabelle swatted at Simon’s hands since he had been in the process of pushing her out the door, hushing him. The vampire backed off, watching with narrowed eyes as she turned to face her brother. Her whip slid across the stoop, whispering like a snake.

“Who is it?” Luke asked.

“Is it Clary?” Simon put in. “Where is she?”

Magnus put his hand on Alec’s shoulder and turned him away from them. Lowering his voice, he asked, “Alec, who is it? You’re as white as a ghost.”

The line crackled faintly, the distance vast between Alec and the other person. The piece of his heart that belonged only to Jace ached like a physical wound, throbbing with blood. He suddenly knew who was on the other side of the line, breathing harshly as if they were injured inside.

“Jace?” he whispered.

Isabelle sucked in a sharp breath.

Simon snorted. “So much for him being missing—”

Isabelle’s hand cracked hard into his ribcage, silencing the vampire.

Luke pressed closer, his eyes bright in the moonlight.

“Alec,” Jace whispered and his voice was very soft and small. 

“Jace? Jace!” Alec gasped out, his heart hammering against the cage of his ribs. Jace sounded like a child again when his arm was fractured badly in three places by a demon and he was waiting for Alec to carve a healing rune into him, to take away the pain, to save him. “What happened? Where are you?”

“Valentine,” Jace said quickly. The words spilled out, jumbled with emotion. “I’m with Valentine. Clary—she—”

Something cut Jace off and Alec felt a spike of fear take root deep in his chest. What was happening to his parabatai? What was Jace going through? What was happening? Then, he pleaded with the Angel not to make him listen to the sound of his best friend dying. 

Isabelle’s fingers curled in Alec’s jacket, her eyes bright with emotion. “Alec,” she whispered.

A breath later, Jace continued speaking as if nothing had happened. His voice was thinner than before. “Alec, don’t,” he said pleadingly. “Don’t come looking for me, okay. Promise me.”

“Jace, what—”

“Promise me,” Jace cut him off sharply. “Promise me, Alec.”

“I promise,” Alec whispered. His grip on the phone tightened, knuckles whitening. “Jace,” he breathed out. Every word felt like goodbye, like a confession of some sorts, but Alec only said, “Take care of yourself.”

“I will,” Jace said softly. “Just don’t come… trust me.”

Then, before Alec could say anything else, the line went dead. 

“Jace? Jace?” he shouted into the phone, but there was no answer. 

Resigned to the fact that Jace was gone from the call, Alec closed the phone and slipped it into his pocket again. For a moment, silence hung in the air—broken only by the chirping of crickets and the constant hum of New York City’s nightlife. People were laughing and talking, a woman was singing, a baby cried loudly, sirens wailed in the distance. Alec took a deep breath of cool night air and let it out slowly, soaking up the heat of Magnus’s hand on his shoulder and Isabelle’s fingers curled in his elbow. 

Then, everyone started talking at once save for Magnus who stood silently at Alec’s side.

“What did he say?” Isabelle demanded, raising her voice over the chatter. 

Silence fell.

“He told us… not to come looking for him,” Alec murmured. “He made me promise.”

“What?” Isabelle breathed out. “We can’t do that. Valentine has him. We have to find him! We have to look for him!”

Magnus put his hand out and laid it over Isabelle’s shoulder. The light pressure of his hand seemed to compress her into stillness and calm. “Stop,” the warlock said smoothly. “Let’s think for a minute. Why would Jace tell you not to come after him?”

Luke had his fingers pressed beneath his chin. After a moment, he said, “Valentine breaks people down from the inside. He must have realized how much Jace cares for you and threatened you. He must want something from Jace.”

“But what?” Simon asked.

“Jace is a Herondale,” Magnus said to the coup leader. “His family was charged with protecting the angel who fell to earth centuries again. Valentine wanted the angel and slaughtered the Herondales in his attempt to get to her, but a Herondale is the only one who could have opened the vault.”

“He said Clary’s name,” Alec murmured.

Isabelle nodded sharply. “Jace must have gone with her to the Herondale manor to get the angel, thinking he’d be ahead of Valentine. Clary must have betrayed him.”

“Clary wouldn’t have done that,” Luke put in seriously. He pushed his hands deep into the pockets of his jeans as if in search of something. “She does her best to lead this coup from afar. She gives us information about Valentine whenever she can.” 

“What about the block in her mind?” Magnus asked. 

Simon shook his head. “You don’t understand. Clary wouldn’t have done anything to aid Valentine—no matter what.”

“What if she did?” Magnus asked.

Simon shook his head vigorously. “She wouldn’t have. There must be something more to this.”

“Like what?” Isabelle demanded.

“Obviously, something we don’t know,” Luke said, pushing the two of them apart before they could get in each others’ faces. Then, he turned to Simon and said firmly, “Go look in each of Valentine’s hideouts. See if Clary or Jace or the angel is in any of his usual haunts.”

Simon glanced at the skyline, brightly-lit with New York’s countless lights. The stars were nearly blotted out by the light, but Simon felt the approach of dawn in his very bones like a distant sear. “Now? The sun will be up soon.”

“Then I suggest you hurry,” Luke said smoothly. “The rest of you, come inside.”

With no more room for argument, Simon quickly morphed into a bat. He hung around long enough to gross out Isabelle and then took off through the bright sleepless city. Luke gathered up the boy’s clothing and brought it inside, followed by the pair of Shadowhunters and one warlock. It was turning out to be a very strange night indeed and it was only going to get stranger, but that was the best they could hope for under the circumstances. The alternative would be much worse.

X X X

(1) An amaranth is an imaginary flower that never fades. To me, it implies something that I think is the perfect name for an angel. Also, check out Nightwish’s song, “Amaranth.” The music video is about a blind angel that fell to earth, the song has kind of a mixed message, but it’s still beautiful. So yes, the Herondale’s angel’s name is very inspired.

It’s been a rough week for me… Leave me some nice reviews…

Questions, comments, concerns?


	32. Fever Dreams

I hope everyone had a nice holiday!

I’ve said it once and I’ll say it again if the reviews don’t pick up for this story, I’m cutting it back to one update a week. There’s no sense in me busting my hump to get out two chapters when four people are apparently reading this… (Not that I don’t totally love those four people! You guys keep me going! But I work a lot and I’m tired.)

X X X

It started raining sometime after Valentine left, sometime after Jace had devastated his only chance for rescue with his own hands. The stones grew colder and dampness seeped out of the walls. Despite himself, Jace began to shiver, cupping his cold fingers around the witchlight as if it had the power to warm him which it did not. The light was room-temperature and useless. He almost discarded the witchlight in his rage, but the thought of sitting down here in the dark stayed his hand. 

The occasional drop of icy rain landed on top of Jace’s head, trickling in through the single distant barred window. The light that filtered in was gunmetal-grey, but the sound of the rain was soothing even so. Jace reclined against the wall to the best of his ability, trying to relax, trying not to think about Alec and Isabelle and everything that had happened. He tried to hold onto his hatred for Valentine, hoping it would chase away the frigidity of the dungeon, but had no such luck.

Jace had risen to his feet and was pacing the short length his chain would allow to try to warm himself when Clary came down to see him. She was carrying a tray of food that smelled mouth-wateringly delicious and a bottle of crisp water. Though Jace wanted to turn his back on her, his growling stomach kept him from turning completely away.

Clary opened the door to the cell, removed the tray her brother had brought the night before, and set down the tray she had brought in its place. She knelt down a few feet from him, but he didn’t come towards the food even though his stomach was certainly rumbling loud enough for her to hear.

Finally, after a silence that felt as if it lasted several years, Clary spoke. Her voice was raspy with unused, cracking softly. “Aren’t you hungry, Jace?”

He wanted to snap at her, but the sound of her voice halted the bitterness that welled up like bile in his throat. Why did her voice sound so small and pained? Now that she was back with her father and brother, shouldn’t she sound happy or evil or something?

“It’s not poisoned,” she continued and her voice slowly edged towards the dulcet tones Jace was used to as she spoke more. “Honest.” Then, to prove her point just as he once had, she opened the bottle of water, took a sip, and then offered it to him.

Jace didn’t take it from her.

“Are you angry with me?” she whispered. 

“Shouldn’t I be?” 

Her green eyes were downcast. “I suppose,” she whispered, “but please… eat something.” 

“Did you tell Valentine about Alec and Isabelle?”

Clary looked up sharply, water sloshing over her fingers. “What?”

“He made me call them, made me tell them not to come for me, and threatened them. Did you tell him about them?”

She started to shake her head.

Jace snarled. “Don’t you dare lie to me!”

She flinched, digging her teeth into her lower lip. There was a fresh split there and it began to bleed, crimson rubies rolling down her chin. Jace had to beat away the impulse to reach out and brush the blood away with the pad of his thumb, to lean in and kiss away her pain, to comfort her in any way.

“Don’t you dare lie,” he repeated instead in a low voice. “Did you tell Valentine about Alec and Isabelle?”

Clary worried her lip, realized that it was bleeding, and lifted her hand to wipe away the blood. It smeared along the back of her wrist hideously, mingling with the faint bruises that circled her wrists. “He might have… overheard me…”

“When?” Jace demanded. “Who did you tell?”

“The angel,” Clary confessed. “Amaranth. I brought her some food and I tried to talk to her, but she was only concerned about you. I told her that your friends might be coming for you, to save you.”

Something that was part-relief and part-suspicion raced through Jace’s veins. He could never be certain that Clary hadn’t told Valentine about Isabelle and Alec, but it seemed just as likely that she had been talking to the angel. Then again, she had betrayed him and brought Valentine right to him. She had even struck Jace down with the power in her hand. He couldn’t be certain of anything, especially her. She was a mixed bag of secrets, lies, rapes, rages, and sorrows.

“Aren’t you hungry?” she whispered again and pushed the water bottle towards him with the tips of her fingers. She had already taken a sip to prove that it was safe.

Jace took the bottle and drank deeply, watching her through slitted eyes. He didn’t think she’d have spiked the food or water. Just as she had made him taste things first before she would eat them, he would certainly do the same.

“I brought down some dinner, too. It should still be hot,” she murmured and lifted the lid off the plate. A leg of barbecued chicken lay in a bed of rice with green beans circling the edge. It looked like a gourmet meal, not something that should have been brought into the dungeon for a prisoner. It was even on a fine china plate with a perfect silver fork at the side over a linen napkin. As if sensing Jace’s thoughts, she continued, “I wasn’t hungry tonight.” She daintily removed a piece of chicken and nibbled it before sliding Jace the tray. 

Jace didn’t move to take the plate even though his stomach was growling like a beast that had been caged for too long.

“It’s quite good,” Clary offered quietly. “My father made it…”

Jace stared hard at her.

She continued speaking as if it was expected of her. “He’s a good cook, if nothing else… Maybe that’s why my mother married him.” She laughed slightly. “I remember when my mother used to make the turkey for Thanksgiving when we lived with Luke. She’d always mess up some part of it, but Luke and I would eat it anyway no matter what.” Her green eyes gleamed when she met Jace’s gaze steadily. The unspoken words hung between them—‘Like you and Alec do for Isabelle.’

Jace wanted to spit out that she and him were nothing alike, no matter what similarities she managed to draw between them. She was Valentine Morgenstern’s daughter and her father had butchered Jace’s parents. They would never be alike! 

But her gaze was steady and sad and as green as spring leaves. She looked away before he could say anything, staring at her hands in her lap. The moment to be bitter passed by and Jace didn’t say a word. Instead, Jace drew the plate into his lap and began to eat. Despite knowing that Valentine had cooked it, it was still delicious. The chicken was moist, the rice was buttery, and the green beans even tasted perfect to his starving body. He finished off the water and then shivered as the chill chased away the lingering heat of the food that had settled in his stomach.

Overhead, the rain pattered through the bars of the little window, dripping on Jace’s head and chilling him further. His teeth nearly chattered so he clenched them.

“Are you cold?” Clary murmured. She stretched out her hand, but when Jace didn’t pull back (partially because his back was already against the wall and he had nowhere to pull back to), she laid her hand over his wrist. Her skin was burning hot and he didn’t think it was entirely because of how cold he was trapped down here in the dungeon.

“Do you have a fever?” he asked before he could stop himself.

Clary drew back, looking just as surprised by his concern as he felt. “No,” she said. “I’m okay.”

“You’re burning up,” he insisted and reached out his hand to feel her forehead. His shackle rattled, but didn’t pull taut. He slid his fingers beneath her soft hair and her forehead was burning with heat just as he had suspected. “You have a fever.”

“I don’t,” she said, but didn’t pull away from his hand. “I’m fine.”

“Didn’t we talk about you lying to me?” Jace asked.

Her eyes fluttered closed and he realized that her gaze had been feverish and glazed. How could he not have noticed earlier? She swayed where she was sitting on the cold stone floor. Jace slid his cool hand down her face to settle on her shoulder, holding her upright. 

“That feels nice,” she murmured and laid her hand over his, pressing the coolness of his touch into her skin. “Can I stay here? With you? Tonight?”

“You want to sleep in the dungeon?” he asked, incredulous. Jace had only been locked in a dungeon a few times—he hadn’t liked it then and he certainly wasn’t enjoying it now—and he wanted nothing more than to get out as soon as possible. At least before, he had been able to comfort himself with the thoughts that Alec and Isabelle were coming for him, but now that that had been taken from him… He wanted to get out more than ever before.

Clary made a little sound in her chest, half-sigh and half-whimper. “It’s okay,” she murmured.

Without another word, she crawled across the stone floor and leaned against the wall beside him. She shivered as a few raindrops landed on the back of her neck and Jace resisted the urge to put his arm around her. Her body was burning hot, blessedly warm against his freezing skin. She nestled against him, caught between shivering and sweating. She closed her eyes, leaned her head on his shoulder, and finally gave into the chill that was wracking her body beneath the scalding fever. Her teeth chattered quietly as she trembled against Jace’s side.

For a moment, Jace hated her completely. He hated that he had trusted her and allowed her to use him when he was being so careful. He hated her for leading her father to him, for letting Valentine capture the angel, and for getting him locked up in the dungeon. He hated her for letting him kiss her, for letting him start to love her, when it was all just a trap. But, most of all, he hated her for how trustingly she leaned against his side in the throes of her sickness.

She shivered again and her hair whispered against the exposed skin of his forearm. 

Jace tightened his fingers around the silver fork, thinking back to when the Institute had been invaded by Valentine and Hodge had used all the silverware except for the spoons to injure demons. If Hodge had been able to hurt demons with forks and knives, it would be an easy matter for Jace to drive the fork into the Morgenstern girl’s throat. He imagined watching the blood bubble from her jugular, streaming down her throat like a necklace of rubies, and a little feeling of nausea welled up in his chest. 

Clary murmured quietly, but didn’t open her eyes.

Jace instead turned his attention with the fork to the shackle around his wrist. He picked at the lock for a few minutes, but though he had many obscure skills, lock-picking was not turning out to be one of them. He was too used to having his Stele with him and being able to use opening runes. If he made it out of this alive, he promised himself, he would slither into the mundane world and learn how to pick a lock in case this ever happened again. With a sigh, he gave up and set aside the fork.

Another cold drop of rain ran down Jace’s spine like a violating finger, prying a shiver from his body.

Clary shivered again and then whispered, “Jace, I’m cold.”

“You have a fever,” Jace told her.

“Please,” she whispered. “Please…”

“What?” he asked.

“I’m so cold,” she murmured.

Jace didn’t answer her. He reached for his witchlight and coiled his fingers around the cool stone. Light filtered between his fingers, playing on Clary’s blood-colored hair and pale skin. Her bruises stood out like shadows beneath her eyes and in the bones of her wrists. She looked like one of those old-fashioned chiaroscuro paintings from the renaissance like Hodge used to like—there were still a few in the library.

“Please,” she whispered again.

This time, Jace relented despite himself. He wrapped his arm around her shoulders, laying his cool fingers over the back of her neck in the hopes to bring down her fever. She shivered, but cuddled closer beneath his arm with a sigh of relief. 

“Thank you,” she whispered. 

Jace sat quietly, listening to the sounds of her soft breathing and the distant patter of rain falling outside the cell.

Then, her voice came through the silence of the dungeon in a whisper. “Do you love me, Jace? Like my father says?”

But Jace was spared having to answer by Jonathon coming into view, his bare footsteps silent on the stone. The glow of Jace’s witchlight played on his face, on his nasty little smirk and bright teeth. For a long moment, Jonathon stood on the other side of the bars, grinning silently at the image of Jace in chains, holding Clary at his side despite everything she had done to him. When Clary whispered her question again, Jonathon’s smirk only deepened until it looked like a slash across his pale face, but Jace still didn’t answer.

X X X

Questions, comments, concerns?

So, review, or get a taste of once weekly updates.


	33. Light and Blood

I hate how after I threaten to cut updates, a bunch of reviews pour in. Why can’t people just review like that all the time?

X X X

Jonathon stood grinning at Jace for what felt like an eternity, but finally, Valentine Morgenstern’s son walked away without a word. Even after he had gone, Jace still couldn’t sleep. His skin prickled with nerves and he could feel invisible eyes watching him. Clary shivered, her body hot against his side, until sometime in the night when her fever finally broke. Then, she crumpled against Jace’s side in a boneless heap with her head in his lap and her blood-red hair streaming over his thighs. Jace rested his hand on her back, peering through the shadows, watchful, worried, unnerved. 

As dawn broke, pale light flooded the cell through the single small window, illuminating a single scurrying rat that quickly vanished in the shadows. Had the rat been what Jace felt watching him in the darkness or was it something else, something worse?

Jace heard footsteps approaching and quickly woke Clary. She sat up beside him, stretching, and her green eyes were like bright jewels. For a moment, she looked completely surprised to find herself with him in the dungeon. Her hands flew to her neck, pulling at the fabric of the dress she was wearing, but a thread of relief flashed through her eyes when she found that she was still clothed.

“What?” she asked, meshing her fingers together in her lap.

Jace tipped his chin towards the mouth of the cell just as Valentine Morgenstern came into view. “There you are, Clarissa,” he said with a thin smile. “Why are you down here? Do you miss your days in the dungeon? You could always go back.”

Clary’s shoulders tensed, the veins in her neck standing out, her pulse pounding.

“Come upstairs,” Valentine said with a wave of his long-fingered hand. “Get dressed. They’ll be here soon and I want you to look your best.”

Clary didn’t move save the pressing of her fingers to the palm where her powers came from. Her face was pale, green around the eyes and mouth as if she was going to be sick. Since she was still pressed tightly to Jace’s side, he felt her tremble. Was she afraid?

Valentine eyed his daughter, prying another shiver from her that Jace felt to his core. Finally, Valentine said smoothly, “You may bring him, if you wish it.”

Clary nodded, a single swift jerk of her head.

“Very well,” Valentine said. 

Then, he selected a pair of black iron cuffs from the wall, pushed open the door to the cell, and crossed to where Jace was seated. Clary scrambled to her feet, picking up the tray from the night before and looking on with bright worried eyes. Jace kept his eyes down, hoping he looked duly chastised and beaten, while Valentine unlocked the shackle around his wrist. The moment the heavy metal fell away, Jace sprang into action. After all, he still had his witchlight, but Valentine would not be fooled by the same trick twice. 

Even as Jace’s clenched fist sailed towards his face, he was already moving out of the way. He ducked beneath the pass of Jace’s arm, the glow of the witchlight passing into his dark eyes, and halted Jace’s attack with a crippling blow from the wrong side of Jace’s elbow. The joint made a sickening sound as it dislocated and the witchlight stone slid from Jace’s hand to rest at Clary’s feet. The light flashed over her face like a quick blow, catching in her wide eyes.

Valentine yanked Jace’s arms behind his back, shackled his wrists with the iron cuffs, and relished the terrible sound Jace’s elbow made as the dislocated joint slid into a new position. Jace bit back a cry of pain, trying to lash out with his legs. Valentine ignored Jace’s kick as if it was nothing even thought Jace landed a hard blow to his shin. As if to demonstrate a proper attack, Valentine put his foot into the middle of Jace’s back. The kick was savage and Jace crashed to the stone floor on his face, unable to do anything to brace his fall with his hands shackled behind his back.

“Father!” Clary gasped.

Valentine passed her smoothly, pausing only to take a moment to tuck a curl of blood-red hair behind her ear. “Teach your pet some manners, Clarissa, or I will,” was all he said. Then, he walked away, his heels tapping softly on the stone floor.

Clary quickly set down the tray and hurried to Jace’s side, tugging him into a sitting position. He cursed, spitting out the names of demons and angels alike. Clary flinched at a few of them, but focused on the blood seeping from his face and neck.

“You shouldn’t have tried to attack him,” she whispered. “He never falls for the same trick twice. That’s why I have trouble using my hand against him. He knows what I can do with it.”

“What can you do with it?” Jace hissed between curses. He licked his lips, tongue probing into the hideous split at the corner of his mouth where he had bitten his lower lip in his fall. 

Clary didn’t answer him. Instead, she pulled him to his feet and kept a grip on his uninjured elbow. She abandoned the tray, led him from the cell, and guided him through the winding labyrinthine halls of the dungeon. Finally, they climbed a staircase and Clary opened the door to blinding sunlight that made Jace hiss in pain. It appeared that the Morgensterns lived in a large mansion in the midst of Somewhereville. (A glimpse out the nearest window revealed no discernible landmarks, only trees and sprawling grass as far as the eye could see.)

As if reading his mind, Clary said quietly, “You won’t be able to tell where we are. And we’re very far from the nearest city so you shouldn’t try to escape.”

Jace turned his attention from the windows to the winding hallways. Portraits of stern-faced men and women hung on the walls in gold-gilded frames. The floor was covered in a thick Persian rug with shiny hardwood floors peeking out at the edges. Every door was closed tightly though some had strange sounds coming from inside while others were quiet. There was a handprint of blood staining one pristine white wall, old and dried. The entire mansion smelled like coffee, demons, and corduroy. 

Hugo was perched on a gold chandelier overhead and he watched Jace with beady eyes as he passed.

“Where’s the angel?” Jace asked. “Amaranth?”

“I don’t know,” Clary murmured.

She led him up a wide staircase that had a wildly curved banister that looked like it would be a riot to slide down. Then, she brought him down another hall of closed doors. At the end of it, she paused at a single wooden door, knocked lightly, and then opened without waiting for an answer.

“This is my room,” she said softly.

Jace didn’t ask her why she had knocked on her own bedroom door. Instead, he took in the sight of her room, hoping to learn something about her, but the room only gave away something he had already suspected. While Clary had been locked in the Institute’s dungeon, she had drawn on the walls in her own blood. In her bedroom in the Morgenstern mansion, there was a large easel set up with single canvas, painted an eerie shade of cobalt. Stacks of canvases were leaned against the wall. Oils paints, chalk pastels, and countless pencils were scattered all over the desk. 

Other than those art supplies, the room was more barren than Jace’s was at the Institute. Clary had no books, no photographs, or no knickknacks. Her bed was neatly made with white sheets and two pillows and a plain white quilt was spread out neatly. The closet stood open with several dresses all the same shade of pretty green hanging inside. The top drawer of her dresser was open a hair and Jace could see plain panties and bras inside. There was nothing to determine anything about Clary here.

“I thought you had a pet,” he voiced, thinking back to the first real conversation he had tried to have with her while she was imprisoned at the Institute. He had expected to find a cat or a bird or even a goldfish in her bedroom, but there wasn’t even a potted fern.

“I used to,” she said softly.

Clary guided him into the bathroom, pushing him down to sit on the rim of the porcelain tub. She turned her back to him, spun the faucet at the sink for warm water, and pulled several rolls of bandages out of the medicine cabinet. Her toothbrush and hairbrush were lying on the vanity along with a plain white towel. There was no make-up or lotion or lip gloss—nothing at all—in the bathroom. She spread the bandages across the counter, selected another plain white washcloth from beneath the sink, and ran it under the warm water.

Then, Jace looked at his own face in the mirror and hissed. Valentine’s brutal kick had sent him face-first into the stone wall and floor of the dungeon. Most of the skin had been flayed off his cheekbone, his lip was badly split, and there was a nasty gash above his eye. He could see a ring of dark bruises forming around his dislocated elbow and the joint stuck out crookedly. Dark circles stood out beneath his eyes from lack of sleep. He looked like hell and he felt even worse. He needed a healing rune.

“Where’s my Stele?” he asked Clary.

She shook her head. “I don’t know.”

“My witchlight was with me in the dungeon,” he continued. “Did you leave it there for me?”

She nodded. “I don’t like how dark it gets down there. A little light is…” Her voice cracked and Jace couldn’t help but think of the time she had begged him to leave the lights on in the Institute’s dungeon. At the time, he had cruelly shut them all off on her. If Clary remembered that, she didn’t show it and she didn’t say anything further.

Jace sat quietly, trying not to curse in pain as she wiped the blood from his face and neck, revealing the terrible injuries beneath. By the Angel, it was just starting to look worse. He was probably lucky the bones of his face and jaw hadn’t been broken. Clary unscrewed the cap on a tube of antiseptic cream, warned him of the sting before she applied some to his face, and opened the box of band-aids. She pasted a large one over his cheek with cautious gentleness. 

Then, she moved to the shoulder that Valentine had stabbed when he attacked Jace at the Herondale manor. Though Jace had wrapped it with the gauze she had brought him his first night in the dungeon and it had begun to heal at the edges, it was starting to look angry and infected. Clary poured hydrogen peroxide into the wound and Jace hissed at it ate away the germs and old blood. She applied more cream to keep out infection and then rewrapped it in clean gauze. 

Methodically, she moved to his elbow and pressed at it with her fingertips. Jace remained still, hoping she’s be able to slide it back into place and the pain would cease, but the cuffs prevented her from realigning the joint. She backed off, ran the bloodied wash cloth with cool water, and wrapped it over Jace’s elbow. The cool water felt good on his aching skin. 

“Does it hurt much?” she asked him.

“It hurts a lot,” he muttered. “It’s dislocated and the fact that it’s twisted behind my back isn’t helping much.”

“I’m sorry,” she murmured, “but if I let you go, you’ll attack me, won’t you?”

“If I did, how far would I get?” 

Clary glanced at him, her green eyes dark. “Assuming you were able to get past me, my father or Jonathon would stop you in a heartbeat. And then… they’d punish you…” Her voice was hard and pained. “And you’d probably wish that it would stop with a dislocated elbow.”

“Then I won’t,” Jace said to her.

She wet her lips, watching him.

“Fix it. I won’t attack you or try to escape,” he said.

“If you think you could use me as a hostage,” she bit out, “you’re dead wrong. They’d hurt me to stop you.”

Jace didn’t answer, simply rotated his body a few inches so that she could see the iron cuffs around his thin wrists. When she didn’t move to help him, he said quietly, “Clary.”

She jolted as if she had been touched with a live wire, but moved towards him regardless. She pressed her hand to the cuffs and Jace felt slight heat as the power in her palm unlocked the shackles with a clatter. His arm hung limp, the joint grinding painfully, and he bit back another slew of curses.

“This is going to hurt,” she told him, “but there’s nothing I can do about that.”

“I know,” Jace muttered. The muscles in his jaw clenched.

Clary’s hands were warm as she gently grasped his forearm and tugged it in front of him. She removed the cool wet cloth and set it aside. He bit back a whine of pain as she held his arm stretched out before him, palm up. Then, she slowly bent his arm at the elbow so that the muscles stretched and relaxed despite the agonizing pain that speared through Jace. She turned his arm deftly once his elbow was bent. There was a dull noise as the elbow slid back into place. Jace bit out a curse as Clary quickly laid the cool cloth back over the aching joint.

“Thanks,” he said softly, holding his arm close to his body protectively. 

Clary inclined her head slightly, her lips a small smile. He wondered if she was happy that he hadn’t attacked her or if she was pleased to see him in pain. “I need to shower and change,” she said. “Do I need to shackle you while I do so?”

Jace eyed the iron shackles. His wrist was hideously bruised from his attempts to escape it and he wasn’t in a hurry to be bound again. He said, “I’ll be fine. Unless, you want me to shower with you.”

“I can wash my own back,” she said with a small smile that was simply happy. Maybe she was happy to be needed by someone, Jace thought. But Clary shooed him out into her bedroom, selected a green dress from the closet, and ducked back in the bathroom. “When I’m finished, you can shower, too. I might be able to get some clothes from Jonathon that will fit you.”

Though Jace wasn’t keen on borrowing any clothing from Morgenstern’s son, he liked the idea of staying in his bloodied clothes even less so he simply nodded.

Clary closed the door and Jace heard the water begin to run. He sat down at her desk, studying the spread of art supplies across the surface. He gazed at the plain cobalt-covered canvas, wondering what she had intended to paint there. Clary began to sing softly, her voice sweet and somber, speaking a foreign language of mist and escape… or maybe that word meant death. (1) When she came out of the bathroom in a waft of sweet-smelling steam, she was wearing another green dress and looked very pretty.

“You can shower now if you want,” she offered. 

“Thanks,” Jace said and rose from her desk. She handed him a clean towel as he passed and then closed the door quietly. Jace listened and heard her footsteps depart, probably to fetch some clothes from her brother for him. For a moment, he contemplated trying to escape, but Clary’s words echoed in his mind. 

‘They’d punish you… and you’d wish it would stop at a dislocated elbow…’

Jonathon had told Jace just a short while ago that he would remained unharmed and undefiled so long as Clary wanted to keep him. The word ‘undefiled’ rang through his head like a gong. 

No, he wouldn’t try to escape now. Maybe in the future, after he had gained Clary’s trust and convinced Valentine that he was no threat. Then, he might be able to make his move and get back to Isabelle and Alec. Until then, he would wait and bide his time. And while he was waiting, he might as well shower. When he came out with the towel slung around his hips, smelling more girly than he had since he had slept with a faerie, Clary had a neatly-folded pile of clothing and was sitting on the bed waiting for him.

“Don’t you have any soap that doesn’t smell like flowers?” he asked her. 

Clary’s lips quirked. “Sorry. I don’t keep many men in my room.”

Jace accepted the borrowed clothing and looked over the pressed slacks and white dress shirt that Clary had brought him. There was even a tie of deep green silk that matched her dress. “Umm,” he said. “Did I miss something?”

Clary looked at him with deep dark eyes. “They’re coming,” was all she said.

“Who?”

Clary didn’t answer Jace and walked towards the bathroom. She began to brush her wet tangled hair, ripping out knot after knot with nary a wince. She stared hatefully into the mirror, her eyes like chips of stones and her skin paler than paper. She looked nearly translucent, the veins standing out beneath her skin like a map of blood.

Jace set aside the clothes and came up behind her still dressed in a towel. 

She met his gaze in the mirror. “What?” she asked, ripping at a great knot in her flame-red hair.

Jace curled his fingers over the brush and her wrist, halting the vicious combing. “Doesn’t that hurt?” 

Clary looked at the pile of hair she had already ripped from her head. “I guess,” she murmured.

“Let me,” he said softly.

She looked at him in the mirror, her eyes like windows. “What do you know about brushing a girl’s hair?”

Jace smiled at her cheekily. “I do live with Isabelle. Alec isn’t very helpful, but I can be taught.”

Clary let him take the brush from her and Jace worked to untangle it from the knotted strands. When it was finally loose, he began to brush her hair with overt gentleness just as he occasionally did for Isabelle when she came home late from a party with flower petals, tangles, and pins in her dark tresses. Some knots he worked out with his fingers and then brushed them smooth. Clary’s hair was like silk, softer than Isabelle’s, with a few natural curls in odd places.

“You’re very gentle, Jace,” she murmured once he had tamed her knotted curls into a sheet of red silk. 

He passed his hand through the smooth strands, curling them around his fingers and her face. “Thanks,” he murmured. 

“Why are you so gentle?” she asked, closing her eyes and leaning back into the caress of his fingers.

“I don’t know,” he murmured. “Before my parents died, I used to ask them for a little sister every Christmas. I wanted someone to protect, someone who needed me. After they died, I lived with the Waylands for a while, but Michael’s son was older than me already. After I came back to the Institute, I met Isabelle and Alec. Isabelle lets me help her sometimes, even if she doesn’t really need it.”

Clary sighed and slid her fingers through her silken hair, lifting it back from her face and then letting it slide through her fingers. “Thank you,” she whispered.

Jace set the brush down without speaking and adjusted the damp towel around his hips.

“You should get dressed,” Clary said to him. “They’ll be here soon.”

“Who’s coming?” Jace asked again.

Clary hesitated in the threshold of the bathroom, biting her lip. Finally, she said in a small voice, “They are.” There was incredible weight in her words, but Jace still didn’t understand what she meant. Even so, a shiver ran up his spine. He had a bad feeling about this.

Outside, it was still raining. Thunder rumbled in the distance.

X X X

(1) The song I was envisioning for Clary to sing in the shower is called “Aisling’s Song” or “Pangur Ban” from the beautiful movie, The Secret of Kells. You can find it easily on Youtube. The song is beautiful and very short.

Questions, comments, concerns?


	34. The Arrival of Demons

I wasn’t going to update today, but I guess I did anyway… I plan to write through the rest of this story as quickly as I can and probably finish it at forty-five chapters.

X X X

Jace hadn’t worn nice clothing since his parents’ funeral and even then, he hadn’t worn slacks and a tie. He wasn’t sure he had ever worn a tie in his life. Clary had to tie it for him, smoothing it down over his abdomen. Then, she curled her fingers through his elbow and gripped him tightly as if frightened that he would do something foolish. Jace had to admit, he had been thinking about it, especially when he saw Valentine and Jonathon in the foyer without any weapons. They both had their eyes fixed forward, their exposed backs turned to him. Clary’s grip tightened and he heard her inhale sharply. 

He was about to turn to her and ask what was going on when it happened. 

There was a sound much like the whoosh of a fire igniting. All the air was sucked out of the room and Jace suddenly found it nearly impossible to breathe. A dark hole appeared in the wall, yawning and lightless. The wallpaper shredded back, peeling away like burned flesh, and the edges of the cavernous rend glowed red like embers from a fire. Air rushed back in and it smelled like sulfur. Demons, Jace recognized immediately, this was the scent of demons. The tear in the wall grew larger until it was nearly the size of a door. A strange light came on in the depths of it, burning red just like the edges. 

Then, something moved in the depths of the darkness. 

Jace wanted to shrink away, his skin crawling, and Clary further tightened her grip on his elbow. Lingering pain shot through him and he halted his retreat, staring into the dark pit that had appeared in the wall. Again, something moved within it and there was a sound like heavy fabric moving over dry grass. He stared, transfixed, as first one shape and then a second stepped out of the yawning darkness. The first was a beautiful woman, as was the second, but there was something very wrong with both of them.

Valentine swept himself into a bow, followed quickly by Jonathon and Clary. Jace remained frozen and Clary had to pull him down beside her.

“Lilith,” Valentine said silkily. “Lamia.”

The dark rend in the wall closed up, stitching itself like a bloodied wound, and then vanished completely. Jace wouldn’t have believed such a hideous display was possible if he hadn’t seen it with his own eyes. Unable to look away, Jace could only stare as the two demons slid into view.

The first, Lilith, (1) was just as the Shadowhunter legends had described her. She was tall and slender with long waves of golden hair that fell over her face like a curtain, hiding her eyes. She wore a simple white dress of sheer fabric, her breasts showing through. She was unspeakably beautiful, though Jace wouldn’t have been able to choose a feature that made her so. It was a stirring he felt deep within his body, as if someone had grabbed his guts. He wanted to worship her beauty, to admire her until the end of time. 

The second, following in the shadow of Lilith, was Lamia. (2) Jace had only heard whisperings of her. She had long russet hair woven with tiny white plumes of baby’s breath flowers. Her lips were full and her mouth was wide. She was wearing a gauzy white dress like Lilith, but it had slipped off her shoulder, revealing the top of her breasts. She would have been just as lovely as Lilith if not for the fact that her body below the waist filled the foyer in countless coils. Where Lilith had legs, Lamia’s lower half was that of a snake, scales gleaming in the faint light.

“Welcome,” Jace heard Clary breathe out, echoing her brother’s words. Her fingers twitched around his elbow, nails raking into his skin.

He wanted to look over at her, to see what she was doing, but he couldn’t tear his eyes from the two demons. 

Lilith turned her head slowly, lifting a lovely white hand to push back her long fair hair, and Jace was nearly ill. Instead of eyes, she had vast empty sockets filled with darkness. Even as he watched, a pair of snakes slithered from inside the depths of her skull and came out her sockets, focusing on him with beady bright eyes. He wanted to look away, but couldn’t. He was trapped in her thrall. Clary’s grip tightened to the point of pain on Jace’s injured joint.

“Who is this?” Lilith purred. “A treat?”

“I can smell his blood,” Lamia hissed out. 

Clary moved slowly, sliding between Jace and the pair of demons as if she could protect him with her body as she had once before. Jace lifted a hand to his battered face, wincing at the feel of all his torn skin beneath the bandages Clary had pressed over his wounds. 

“Father,” Clary said.

Valentine wiped away his grin and interjected, “Ladies, can I offer you a drink?”

“What are we having?” Lamia asked. 

“What would you like?” Valentine offered. 

Lamia’s eyes raked over Jace again and her lips pulled back over her sharp biting teeth. 

“I could offer you one of my children,” Valentine said silkily. “They would be far more delectable than that urchin.”

They chuckled as if they shared a great joke.

“A drink would be nice,” Lilith said when her laughter faded. 

Clary shivered at Jace’s side and pulled him to stand. Jonathon didn’t look nearly as disturbed as he should have and even smiled lightly as he followed his father and the two demons. He paused to hold the door open and it took Lamia’s body several minutes to slither from the foyer. Jonathon stared expectantly at Clary and Jace, his brow wrinkling impatiently. Clary was still gripping Jace’s elbow as she led him after the demon women. The door slammed at his back and Jace jolted like he had been touched with a live wire. 

Jonathon chuckled. “Nervous, Shadowhunter?”

Jace glared at Jonathon, but his voice was trapped somewhere in his chest behind his hammering heart. He turned to Clary. “Demons,” he forced out. “Why are there demons here?”

“Our father has a long-standing agreement with them,” Jonathon said cheerfully. “Sometimes, he even—”

“Stop,” Clary said harshly. “Don’t tell him anymore.”

Jace turned away from Jonathon, staring at Clary incredulously. “Tell me,” he insisted.

She shook her head. “No, you don’t need to know.”

Then, they arrived in the study where Valentine was pouring out crystal goblets full of red liquid that Jace could only pray was wine. If it was blood, he was going to be sick all over Valentine’s perfect Persian carpet. Lilith and Lamia were sitting together on the Victorian sofa with Lamia’s many coils spread across the floor like countless scarves. Jace, Clary, and Jonathon stepped carefully over each snaky coil. Jonathon seated himself in the overstuffed armchair beside Valentine, facing the demons. Clary led Jace to sit on the couch a little ways from them.

Lilith took a sip of her drink, the twin snakes peeking from her eye sockets focusing on Jace. She turned to face Lamia and they spoke for a moment in a language only demons could understand. Valentine looked nervous while they spoke, his fingers twisted the stem of his wineglass around and around.

“Tell us who the boy is,” Lilith said when she finished speaking with Lamia.

“Just a pet of my daughter’s,” Valentine said.

Lamia shook her head. “I smell his blood. I smell the touch of the Angel.”

“Nephilim,” Lilith said smoothly. “Who is he?”

“Jace Wayland,” Clary put in before her father could speak.

Lilith’s lifted her hand in a movement to slow to be threatening, but Jace found his eyes drawn to the movement all the same. He watched as he finger lifted softly and slowly. Then, searing pain flashed across his chest and he let out a howling scream. Clary whirled towards him where they sat together on the couch, her eyes wide and stricken. Beneath the white dress shirt be wore, his skin split like overripe fruit and blood began to flow. Then, Lilith lowered her finger and the pain stopped. Jace sagged against the back of the couch, gasping for breath, his hands pressed delicately to the injury.

“You’d do well not to lie to us again, Clarissa Morgenstern,” Lamia said coolly. “Or your little pet will suffer.”

“Do you already know?” Clary asked, her voice a timid whisper.

Lilith only smiled thinly, just showing the tips of her pointed teeth.

With no other choice, Clary said, “This is Jace Herondale.”

“The Herondales are all dead,” Lilith said and lifted her hand again. 

Clary moved in front of Jace, her back pressing to his chest and prying a sound of pain from his lips. “No,” she insisted. “Jace is the last Herondale. He was able to open the Herondale’s sanctuary where the angel, Amaranth, was hidden.”

Lilith lowered her hand and the snakes in her head opened their mouths wide. “The angel, Amaranth,” she said urgently. “Where is the angel?”

“She’s out of the way,” Valentine said.

Lilith reclined against the couch and took a long sip of her drink. “Ah,” she murmured and the snakes withdrew into her skull.

The tip of Lamia’s tail twitched, rattling like a rattlesnake’s even if it didn’t make a sound. “Why have you summon us here, Valentine?” she asked.

Valentine leaned forward, setting aside his wineglass. “I have the angel’s blood,” he said softly. “Now, all I need is the blood of a demon.”

“I gave you my blood once,” Lilith said. “Why should I do so again when you did nothing remarkable with my blood? You experimented, but what did you achieve, Valentine Morgenstern?”

Valentine looked stricken, but quickly recovered. His lips pulled into a twisted mockery of a smile. “Clarissa, Jonathon, leave us while we talk,” he told his children. 

Clary pulled Jace to his feet and led him swiftly from the room. Jonathon followed at a slower pace, looking disgruntled that he was being sent away. When the door closed at their backs, Jonathon quickly pressed his ear to the door and listened hard. Clary fled back to her bedroom as if something unseen was chasing her, dragging Jace along with her even when he stumbled painfully on the stairs. 

“What was all that about?” Jace demanded of her. 

“I don’t know,” she said. “I don’t want to know.” 

Then, she abruptly crumpled into a heap with both hands pressed to her skull. She pressed her forehead into her knees, breathing so hard that the hem of her dress fluttered. She made a soft noise of pain and dug her hands through her hair, clutching her head tightly. Her back trembled and a painful keening whine escaped her lips.

“Clary?” Jace whispered. “Are you okay?”

She stretched out her hand and Jace saw the rune blazing in the center of her palm. He grasped her hand, partially because she was reaching out so desperately and partially because he wanted a closer look at the mark standing out against her pale skin. It was jagged and painful-looking, but Jace now realized that it looked very much like a pointed star. Jace had little skill reading runes, unlike Alec who could read and draw them in seconds, but he was fairly certain that the rune was something angelic. 

“It hurts,” Clary gasped out, clinging to Jace’s hand. “It hurts.”

“What hurts?” he asked, pulling her closer. 

She gripped his shirt. “My head,” she whimpered. “It’s splitting open. It’s going to break.”

Jace tried to lift her head, to get her to look at him, but she wouldn’t allow it. She fought against him, pressing her face into his shirt. 

“No,” she pleaded. “Don’t… don’t look…”

“What is it?” he asked. “What’s hurting you?”

As if she hadn’t heard him, she continued, “You’ll see it… no…”

Then, she abruptly crumpled into unconsciousness without another sound. Quickly, Jace hooked his fingers beneath her chin, lifted her face, and pushed back the curtain of blood-red hair from her features. The marks were already fading, but her forehead was circled with dark jagged runes, mingled demonic and angelic in nature.

“What is this?” Jace whispered.

Clary remained unconscious, slumped in his lap. Her breathed was labored and unsteady. Her mouth was twisted with pain, blood sliding from the corner of her mouth from the split in her lip. Tears leaked beneath her closed lids and made slow paths down her pale face. Jace gathered her limp body up in his arms and carried her to her bed, laying her down against the white blankets. She didn’t make a sound even when he removed her shoes and drew the blankets over her. 

Jace went to the bathroom and peeled off the shirt and tie he had borrowed. The wound Lilith had seared into his chest was ragged at the edges and had hurt worse than when his feet had been burned down to the bone, but wasn’t as deep as Jace had suspected. He mopped off the blood with a hiss and pasted on a row of band-aids. Then, he wet a clean washcloth and returned to Clary’s bedside. He dabbed at her face and hands, hoping to rouse her with the cool water, but she remained deeply unconscious. 

…

Simon slid out of his hiding place as soon as night fell. He hated being cramped in the shadows during the day. When he was at Luke’s house and there was television, internet, and books, it wasn’t so bad having to be bottled up indoors. When he was hiding from the direct sunlight as a rat under a car that had been parked in the same place for fifty years, had three flat tires, and was leaking foul-smelling oil, the daylight hours were painfully long.

Valentine Morgenstern had countless hideouts so Simon had enlisted the help of one of his vampire friends who was bored and would enjoy putting a wrench in the spokes of Valentine’s evil plans. They had split up the hidey-holes and agreed to meet up after a night of searching. Only she had been late, probably trapped by the sunlight, and Simon was still waiting for her now. He would give it another hour and then go looking for her on top of searching for Clary and Jace.

Simon stretched himself out of the form of a rat and sat naked on the hood of the dilapidated car. It wasn’t as if anyone was ever in this area anyway and even if someone did see a naked teenager sitting on a car, they’d assume he was a junkie and keep walking. Half an hour into the night, a bat dropped down from the sky and quickly reshaped itself into the figure of Maureen Brown. (3) Since she was only fourteen, she was more self-conscious about her nudity than Simon was, but he always made an effort to cover himself up when she was around.

“Did you find anything?” Simon asked the young vampire girl.

She nodded, pulling her long hair over her shoulders to hid her breasts and turning from his sideways so he couldn’t see more than her naked hip and the curve of her behind.

“Maureen, tell me,” Simon insisted. “Do you want me to close my eyes?”

“Sorry,” she murmured. “It’s just… I wish I was turned when I was older, after I was beautiful, like you and the others are.”

“You’re beautiful enough, Maureen,” Simon said with a sigh. They went through this same old song and dance every time she changed shape and wound up naked in front of him.

“Thanks,” she said and turned her head to look at him. “I think I found them.”

“Where?” Simon asked, perking up.

Maureen blushed as her eyes slid over his exposed chest and she quickly looked away. “In one of Valentine’s mansions. The one out in the countryside in the forest, the one he said was haunted to keep away the locals.”

Simon ran a hand through his hair. “Weird,” he said. “Valentine never uses that place.”

“That’s why I said ‘I think,’” Maureen said smoothly. “I’m not sure. There was a blonde Shadowhunter in the dungeon along with a girl with red hair and I saw Valentine but I can’t be certain.”

“Alright,” Simon said and smiled at her broadly. “Great! I’ll go check it out.”

“Be careful,” Maureen said. “There were demons there.”

Simon froze, but his mouth continued without his consent. “It’s okay. Demons don’t usually care for Downworlders.”

Maureen shook her head, disturbing her pale hair so that she covered her small breasts with her hands. “They were Greater Demons. I could smell them.”

“I’ll be careful,” Simon assured the girl. “You go back home and I’ll come see you later. Okay?”

She nodded, shifted back into a bat, and took to the sky.

Simon watched her go. Then, he heaved his body upright, still feeling cramped from being under the car all day. It was easy to change now that night had fallen and Simon quickly took to the sky, flying the opposite direction as Maureen. Hopefully, she had found Jace and Clary. 

Simon knew he should probably go back and tell Luke what they had learned, but searching Valentine’s hideouts had taken longer than expected and Simon was in a hurry. Against his better judgment, he headed out without telling anyone where he was going. If it came down to it, he could always contact Magnus Bane somehow. It was nice to have a warlock in the coup, even if Simon wished had hadn’t come with a pair of Shadowhunters.

X X X

(1) Lilith was apparently Adam’s first wife, but she refused to become subservient to him during sex and left whereupon she slept with either Satan or a demon named Samael. Afterwards, she became the Queen of Succubuses, driving men to think of sex and even commit rape. I kept her appearance as it appears in John Collier’s painting of her since it seems the most traditional. (In keeping with the Mortal Instruments books, she has snakes for eyes.) 

(2) Lamia was Zeus’s mistress before she was cursed by his jealous wife, Hera. She was transformed into a monster and becomes the eater and stealer of children. In other interpretations, she is much like a succubus and instead devours young men after luring them to her with sex. I kept her appearance as it appears in John William Waterhouse’s painting of her even though he only shows her as a human. (She has the head and breasts of a woman, but has become a snake below the waist.) 

I came across Lamia when I was looking up Lilith. I tried to pick just one, but I liked both of these demons and thought they were more interesting as a pair anyway.

(3) I read about Maureen on the Shadowhunter Wiki when I was looking for a female vampire friend for Simon. And I finally stumbled across her in the books just yesterday.

Questions, comments, concerns?

Review! Because I wasn't going to update today!


	35. Flames of Escape

Okay, I sat down last night and muscled through this story so now I’m finished completely and I just have to post chapters! Yay me!

X X X

It was stupid. Jace even knew it was stupid—completely and totally irrevocably stupid. Here he was with the perfect opportunity to escape. Valentine was distracted by the demons downstairs and his son was too busy eavesdropping like a spoiled child. Clary was unconscious in her bed, writhing under the throes of her returning fever. None of them would be able to stop him if he chose to escape now and he had already opened the window to let in cool fresh air, but—stupid, stupid, stupid!

Rather than take advantage of the situation, Jace instead pulled Clary’s desk chair over to her bedside and sat down, watching over her as she tossed and turned. He fetched a washcloth from her pristine bathroom, wet it with cold water, and laid it over her forehead. Her fingers twisted in the coverlet and she tossed her head in a fan of sweat-soaked red hair. Occasionally, he lifted the cloth to see if the runes had reappeared on her skin, but her forehead remained smooth and pale each time he looked.

After nearly an hour, Jace rose from the chair and crossed to the window. Night was falling beyond the glass. A bright ribbon of sunlight was still spread along the horizon like spilled paint, spreading fingers of gold across the endless sea of grass that surrounded the Morgenstern mansion. If Jace squinted, he could just make out the distant winding path of the road, headlights flashing on it rather frequently as cars drove past. He reminded himself again just how stupid it was to stay here.

But he had a bad feeling settling in the pit of his heart. He felt that if he were to leave, Clary would be in more danger than he was. He tried to convince himself that he shouldn’t care, that she was Valentine’s daughter, that she had betrayed and used him. But each thought was followed quickly by the memory of her lips when she had kissed him on the subway, the timid curl of her fingers in his shirt, the softness of her eyes when he woke to find her sleeping in his arms.

Maybe Valentine was right… 

Maybe she had broken him… 

Jace sighed heavily and turned away from the open window. He removed the cloth from Clary’s forehead, wet it again, and returned to her side. He laid his palm over her damp skin, but he could still feel the burning fever lurking beneath her skin. She didn’t react to his touch, still deeply unconscious. Jace sat down in the desk chair again, wishing he had something to do to pass the time. A little voice in the back of his head reminded him that he could always just leave.

He glanced at the clock and was shocked to find that he had spent most of the night brooding. Time flies when you’re having fun, huh? In just a few hours, the sun would be up and his chance to escape would be gone for good.

Jace was saved from further harping on himself by a loud knock at the door. For a moment, rather uncharacteristically, he panicked. Should he answer the door like he belonged here? Should he duck into the bathroom to hide? Should he put his back to the wall with his hands pressed behind him and pretend that he was still shackled? Again, the decision was slipped from his hand as the door opened all on its own and Jace was still standing stupidly next to Clary’s bed.

Jonathon stepped through the threshold, his pale hair glinting in the fading moonlight. For a moment, he looked just as surprised to see Jace standing beside his sister’s bedside as Jace felt on the inside. Then, he schooled his features into a sinister grin. “Ah,” was all he said.

“What?” Jace snapped at Jonathon.

“Did you knock her out?” Jonathon asked smoothly. “She is a little bitch, isn’t she?”

The hair on the back of Jace’s neck rose. “She’s your sister.”

Jonathon approached the bed. “Yes, and I know her best, inside and out.” He stretched out his pale hand, gleaming with the Morgenstern family ring, and caressed the blankets over Clary’s knee. 

She didn’t stir.

“Tell me, Shadowhunter, has she let you inside her yet?” Jonathon continued, running his hand up her covered leg. His fingers lingered too long. “She’s one hell of a kisser, too. She must have kissed you. Why else would you stay when you had such a perfect opportunity to leave?”

Something must have shown on Jace’s face because Jonathon’s mouth cracked into a hideous jack-o-lantern grin. 

“Oh, she has kissed you, hasn’t she?” he taunted. “She’s had a lot of practice so she’s very good at it. She makes you think you’re the only one. It always gets her what she wants and she’ll do anything to get what she wants. You should feel her mouth around your cock—”

“Shut up!” Jace snapped at Jonathon. “She’s your sister!”

Jonathon’s grin spread wider, splitting his face in half. His eyes were like pits to hell in his white face. Jace was suddenly struck by the similarities between Jonathon and the creature he had seen raping Clary in his nightmare so long ago.

“You…” Jace breathed out, nausea gripping him as he thought of Isabelle and of Valentine’s threat against her. Isabelle was so strong, sharp and coiled just like her whip, but a whip was merely a strand of woven leather. It was thin, fragile, deadly for all its weakness—just like Isabelle. But Jace was not like Jonathon, was not like Valentine, was not even like Clary. He would never allow anyone to hurt Isabelle, to touch his sister. “You bastard.”

Jonathon’s grin couldn’t get any wider and yet it still didn’t reach his eyes. He snarled his fingers in the blankets and pulled them down in a quick jerk to reveal Clary’s bare legs beneath her green dress. She still didn’t move and Jonathon laid his hand against the overheated skin of her calf. His hand slid up, twining to the inside of her thigh, and Jace couldn’t take it anymore. He lunged at Jonathon, grabbing his wrist and jerking it away from Clary.

“Don’t touch her like that!” Jace shouted at Jonathon. “By the Angel, she’s your sister!”

Jonathon’s hand flashed out quicker than the strike of a viper. The hard crest of the Morgenstern ring smashed into Jace’s cheekbone and he felt something in his face crack. Valentine had already flayed most of the skin from Jace’s face by kicking him into the dungeon wall earlier and there was little to protect him from Jonathon’s next blow. Hot blood streamed down Jace’s neck, soaking into the remains of the blood-stained dress shirt he was wearing. 

Jonathon’s third blow came harder than the first two and Jace reeled back. The wall came up to meet him, cracking into the back of his skull brutally. His vision swam, splotched with darkness and light, but he could make out Jonathon’s body as he rose onto the bed and loomed over Clary. The gauzy green dress she wore was little protection from Jonathon as he shredded the fabric in his hands with a horrible sound. Clary’s breasts gleamed with fever-sweat and she shivered as the cool air touched her skin. 

“Don’t,” Jace choked out. “Don’t.”

Jonathon grinned over his shoulder at Jace. “Have you seen her fuck another yet? Even when she’s unconscious, she puts on a good show. I always have her when Lilith is here. Her lust makes it so much better—just watch.” 

Then, Jonathon laid his hand over her breast, pinching her nipple and pulling it firmly. Clary’s back arched off the bed and little keening sound escaped her lips. Jonathon leaned down and covered her mouth with his own, swallowing her cries. His hands moved lower, past the line of her panties as he spread her legs.

Jace forced himself to move, rising with the support of the wall and then lunging away from it. His only thought was to stop Jonathon from doing whatever he planned with Clary’s vulnerable body, but the world tilted awkwardly beneath Jace’s feet. He stumbled and half-fell half-tackled Jonathon. The two of them crashed over the side of the bed in a heap.  
Jonathon wedged his foot into Jace’s ribs and kicked him off. Jace collided harshly with the bed and all the air was crushed from his lungs when Jonathon leaped on him. Jonathon’s hands closed over Jace’s throat, his blood making the skin slippery so that Jonathon could hardly get a grip. Even so, he managed to crush off Jace’s air supply.

“I’ll kill you and get rid of you now. She’ll think you just ran away,” Jonathon snarled in Jace’s face. 

Jace struggled, pain bolting through the shattered bones of his face. He grabbed one of Clary’s charcoal pencils and stabbed it into Jonathon’s face, spearing through his cheek and into his mouth. With a howl, Jonathon reeled back, cursing and spitting. Jace rolled away from the bed, wrestled to his feet, and leaned heavily on the desk for support. His ears were ringing and his mouth was full of blood, making it hard to breathe. Jonathon panted, glaring at Jace through narrowed eyes.

Then, his black eyes widened and darted from Jace to behind him. For a moment, Jace thought that maybe Clary was awake, but he didn’t turn to look at whatever Jonathon was looking at. Then, a pair of thin hands passed through Jace’s peripheral vision. They were small and delicate, an artist’s hands, with a burning star-shaped rune in one palm.

“Clary,” Jace breathed out.

Then, her hands closed over his nose and mouth and smothered him. Her nails dug in, tearing into his damaged face, bolting pain through his broken cheekbone. Jace struggled loose, tearing away from her grasp. He stumbled over spilled art supplies and fell into a heap, looking up at her. His heart was pounding and he tried to convince himself that it was from pain, not fear.

Clary’s eyes were half-open, mingled green and black with shadows. Her hair was the color of blood, her naked breasts gleamed, and the curve of her ribcage looked like a scabbard holding knives. Though Jace had expected to see scars on her, there were none. Her expression was sharp, teeth bared like an animal’s, and the runes were standing out on her forehead again. Apparently no longer seeing Jace as a threat, she stepped down from the bed and moved past him without a second glance.

Jonathon was backing away, his hands lifted in a placating gesture. “Clarissa, stop,” he said, his voice rising with panic as she approached him. “Stop!”

Jace’s heart skipped a beat, thinking of what Clary’s hand was capable of as she reached out towards her brother and then recognizing the true fear in Jonathon’s voice. For this bastard to be afraid of his sister, what was Clary capable of? What would she do to him?

Jonathon drew himself up suddenly, his dark eyes deep and black. His lips curled back over his teeth in a feral snarl, threatening, dangerous—but it was a desperate warning.

Clary drew to a halt and tilted her head, considering the display in front of her. Her bare toes curled against the hardwood floor. Slowly, she turned away from Jonathon and the other boy fled the room in a heartbeat. The door slammed at his back and Jace was alone with Clary in her strange trancelike condition. She turned slowly to face him and her eyes were almost completely open now. The bright spring green color was shadowed heavily, veined with a web of dense demonic black. 

“Clary,” Jace said, wincing at the pain in his face. “Clary, it’s me. It’s Jace.”

She moved towards him, her hand outstretched for his throat. Her fingers were curled like claws. There was no recognition in her face or eyes. She looked like Jonathon had a moment ago, but not desperate at all. She looked like a loaded weapon, like a hand grenade. Jace suddenly had no doubts that she would kill him and he had no hope of fighting her off. She was too strong, too powerful, too much like Valentine. He closed his eyes and willed his thoughts away from her, thinking of Isabelle and Alec. He smiled faintly, pain spearing through his face.

Then, suddenly, a terrible keening sound escaped Clary. Jace opened his eyes sharply, looking up at her. She had stopped dead in her tracks and lifted a hand to her forehead. The dark runes Jace had seen on her brow before suddenly flashed into view. They wavered, coming in and out like a bad transmission. Then, they darkened like fresh bruises and Clary threw herself to her knees. She let out a terrible scream, her mouth opening so wide that Jace thought her jaw must have been dislocated.

Then, she tore at her exposed skin through the shreds of her dress. She was still screaming, her voice a howling cacophony of words Jace didn’t understand. He caught the words, ‘No’ and ‘I won’t!’ She raked her body with her fingernails, tearing at the skin of her breasts and throat until she was a bleeding mess. She slammed the flat of her palm over her chest and there was a flare of light and power that was followed by a scream of potent agony. 

She was trying to kill herself, Jace realized in horror. He forced himself to his knees and staggered towards her, trying to capture her hands and pin them down. He didn’t know what the hell was going on, but it certainly didn’t look good. Clary was still screaming, the sound pounding into his head like countless nails. Jace tried to cover her mouth, but she bit him. Her teeth sank in cruelly, ripping away his skin. For a moment, her expression was terrible and satisfied. Her eyes were abyssal. Then, she struck herself in the face and started screaming again.

“Stop!” Jace shouted to her. “Clary, stop!”

“What the hell?” came a garbled voice.

Jace whirled to see the tail end of Simon’s transformation from bat to human. The vampire quickly rushed to Jace’s side, catching Clary’s hands and pinning them easily with his superhuman strength. She continued screaming, but when Simon covered her mouth, she didn’t bite him as she had Jace.

“What’s going on?” Simon demanded. 

“I don’t know!” Jace said. “I don’t know! She just lost it!”

“We have to get out of here,” Simon said. “That screaming will have woken the dead. There’s no chance Valentine won’t have heard it and I can’t carry you both. Do you know how to call for Magnus Bane?”

Jace nodded. “Fire. I can call him in the fire.”

“Well, start smoking,” Simon snapped, pinning Clary to his bare chest. “Hurry up!”

“I don’t have anything to start a fire with!” Jace snapped at Simon. “My Stele is gone and there isn’t even a fireplace in this room!”

“Fuck!” the vampire swore. Then, he dragged Clary to her feet, pinned her struggling body to his chest with one arm, moved to the window, and lifted his hand into a beam of dawn sunlight. Flames leaped from his skin, searing up his arm. He turned towards Jace in a waft of burning flesh. “Quick! Do it!”

Jace whirled Simon away from the sunlight, his adrenaline overriding the dizziness that was making it nearly impossible to stand. He grabbed Simon’s burning forearm, shocked to see the bones appearing beneath the embers, and shouted into the flames. “Magnus!”

The reaction was instantaneous as if Magnus had been waiting for Jace’s call. His face appeared in the flames leaping from Simon’s arm. His eyes roamed the room quickly, taking in the sound of Clary’s screams and the sight of the rising sun. Abruptly, he spat out a word in Latin and Clary crumpled into unconsciousness immediately. “A Portal is coming,” Magnus said. “Just hang on.”

There was the sound of pounding footsteps in the hallway.

“There’s no time,” Jace shouted.

A small rift appeared in the wall, scarcely large enough for a child. 

Magnus’s hand came through, his fingers leaping sparks. “There’s always time,” he said with the grace of an immortal being.

Jace smothered the flames on Simon’s arm with his hands and pulled the vampire further out of reach of the rising sun. Clary sagged between them, silent and bleeding. More light streamed through the windows, catching on all Simon’s naked skin. Little sparks and flames began to blaze from him and he cursed again. Jace pressed Simon back against the wall with his body, shielding all he could of the nude vampire from the sunlight. 

The bedroom door flew open. Jonathon and Valentine stood in it, followed by a spear of sunlight that fell directly over them. Simon released Clary to shield his burning face with his already-seared hands and she slid to the floor in a heap. Jace moved away from them for a split-second, prying a scream of agony from Simon when the sunlight fell over him in a scalding wave. Jace was gone just long enough to grab the white blanket from Clary’s bed. He threw it over Simon, smothering all the flames and protecting him from the sunlight.

Though Jonathon and Valentine had been frozen by the sight before them, they snapped out of that shock now and moved towards Jace.

Valentine made a disgusted sound in his throat as Jace wavered on his feet, bleeding and shattered. “A Shadowhunter protecting a Downworlder and the daughter of the man who killed his parents,” he sneered. “The race really has fallen.”

“Magnus!” Jace shouted desperately. “Magnus!”

The rift widened, followed by Magnus’s other hand. More blue sparks leapt from his fingers and he gripped the sides of the Portal. With a shout of effort, the warlock tore his Portal open wider, hurrying the magic in a way that should have been impossible.

“Now, Jace!” came Alec’s voice. The sight of his parabatai’s hand coming through the Portal was almost too much for Jace to bear. The relief nearly crippled him.

“Stop!” Valentine shouted, realizing that the Portal was suddenly large enough to spirit them to safety. “Stop them!”

Jonathon’s face curled in a grotesque mask, demonic and vile, his teeth like knives. Jace winced back, unarmed and helpless, pressing against Simon. Isabelle’s shining whip lashed through the Portal, cracking across Valentine’s face and snaring Jonathon before he could attack.

Jace wrapped one arm around Simon’s covered shoulders and grabbed Clary under his other arm. He only had to guide the burned vampire towards the Portal, allowing Simon to half-support him in the reeling dizziness that threatened to overwhelm him. Jace pushed Simon through the Portal as soon as they reached it and heard the vampire give a shout of pain and surprises as he landed on the other side. Then, Jace fell on Alec’s outstretched hand like a dying man. 

Alec’s grip was strong and firm, followed by his voice saying, “I’ve got you.”

Jace fell through the Portal, landing in a heap on the other side in Alec’s lap. Clary followed after him, sprawling unconscious and half-naked and bleeding into Luke’s arms. Isabelle had both arms around Simon, keeping the coverlet over him to protect him from the sun streaming through the police station’s windows. Magnus pulled the Portal closed after them and then slumped to his knees in exhaustion.

X X X

Questions, comments, concerns?

Review!


	36. Aftershock and Conversations

It’s time for some aftershock. This story is a rollercoaster!

X X X

It was a quick matter to move from the room where Jace, Simon, and Clary had spilled through the Portal into the living-type-room of the station. Luke laid Clary down on the couch, calling for someone as he did so. Isabelle pulled the coverlet off of Simon once he was safely out of the sunlight to see how badly-injured he was, but his skin had almost healed and she squealed in shock before throwing the blanket back over his nudity. Alec eased Jace down on another couch, cupping his face in his hands. 

Jace winced. “That hurts, Alec,” he said. 

“Isabelle,” Alec said, stretching out his hand. “Stele.”

Isabelle handed over her Stele and watched from behind Alec’s shoulder as he scrawled the rune against Jace’s forehead. Much of the skin had been flayed from his face and his cheekbone had been crushed. It took several minutes for the rune to heal all the damage.

“Now the girl,” Alec said to his sister.

Isabelle turned away from Jace and went to kneel beside Luke where Clary was spread out on the couch. She drew the healing rune on Clary’s collarbone and pulled a quilt over Clary’s naked chest to preserve her modesty. Then, she returned to Jace and Alec. For a moment, she stared at them both, her eyes glittering with emotion. “Jace,” she breathed.

Jace was peeling bandages off his face and chest, but he stopped dead when he heard the tone of her voice. He opened his arms and she fell into him, pressing kisses to his nose and cheeks. Her lip gloss smelled like raspberries and was smooth on his battered skin. Alec swept in behind her, wrapping his long arms around them both. His cheek pressed to the top of Jace’s head, tucking his parabatai closer than his sister. The embrace was like coming home.

Magnus made his way into the room. His face was white beneath his glitter and his spiked hair was askew. He looked tired and pale and sank down gratefully into an overstuffed armchair, watching the goings and comings in the living room.

A young werewolf with a jagged scar twining around her arm came to Luke’s side with some clothes for Simon, Jace, and Clary. She watched everyone warily, uncertain, but then gave Luke’s shoulder a squeeze. “I’ll make some coffee,” she said. “You all look like you could use some.”

“Thank you, Maia,” Luke said, holding Clary’s hand in his own.

She exited the room silently, her long hair swishing against her shoulders. 

It was then that Magnus turned his attention to Jace. “Are you alright?” 

Jace nodded, lifting a hand from Isabelle’s back and pushing aside all her hair so he could see Magnus. “I’ve been better, I’ve been worse,” he said.

Alec and Isabelle released Jace from their embrace, but sat on either side of him as if afraid that he would be taken from them again. Isabelle was still holding Jace’s hand, her thumb moving over the scars on his knuckles. 

“You’re lucky I was able to open a Portal for you that quickly,” Magnus said. “You could have been in real trouble.”

“How did you do that anyway?” Luke put in. “I’ve never seen a warlock able to do that.”

Magnus waved his hand dismissively. “Now, what I want to know is, what exactly happened to Clary?”

All eyes turned to Jace.

“I don’t really know,” Jace admitted, pushing back his hair. Then, he started at the beginning. 

He told them how Clary had come to him in the night, telling him about why her father had killed his parents, about the angel who was protected in the sanctuary of the Herondale’s manor. They had left in the middle of the night, hoping to get a jump on Valentine by getting to the angel first, but Valentine had followed them. Jace admitted that Clary might have betrayed him and led her father right to them. Jace told them about his fight with Valentine, about the power in Clary’s hand, and how he had woken up in the dungeon.

He told them about Valentine’s son, Jonathon, and about how weird Clary had seemed when she was with her family. He explained that Valentine had somehow allied himself with demons, mainly Lamia and Lilith. This drew a sharp gasp of surprise and horror from everyone. Jace continued, telling them about Clary’s sudden unconsciousness and terrible fever. He told them about the runes he had seen on her forehead and the one that blazed in her palm when she used her powers.

He told them about Jonathon coming to Clary’s room in the night. Jonathon had said something about ‘Lilith’s lust’ which Magnus explained was something the succubus could bring out in men. She made it hard for them to deny a woman, driving some to rape and others to do foolish things. Maybe that had been why Jace couldn’t bring himself to leave Clary. Jace finished, coupling his explanation with Simon’s, of what had happened in the room as Magnus opened a Portal to save their lives.

Maia came in with coffee and Jace realized that everything that had happened had been condensed into an explanation that took less than ten minutes. She passed out mugs of coffee and then a pitcher of cream and the sugar bowl. Magnus and Simon were the only ones with enough presence of mind to thank her and she smiled at them.

Gratefully, Jace wrapped his cold hands around the mug, took a appreciative sip of the warm drink, and shivered between Alec and Isabelle. He could still feel the chill of the dungeon clinging to his skin and suddenly, he was very tired.

“Runes?” Alec asked when Jace had finished. “Are you sure?”

Jace nodded. “I think the one in her palm looked angelic, but the others… I don’t want to say they’re demonic runes, but that’s what they looked like to me.”

“I can settle this,” Magnus put in. Then, he heaved himself out of the armchair with a groan. He crossed the room, nudging Luke aside, and crouched beside Clary. He stretched out his hand, laid it over her forehead, and closed his eyes. A faint blue light washed over them both. When Magnus spoke, his voice sounded distant. “It’s a block. There’s a strong block in her mind.”

“We knew that,” Jace said. “We thought it was to protect Valentine’s secrets.”

Magnus shook his head slightly. “No, it runs deeper than that. It’s… separating parts of her… from the rest of her.” His brow wrinkled. “I don’t understand. I’ve never seen something like this before. Valentine was a Shadowhunter, right?”

Luke nodded. “Yes. Clary is his daughter. Her mother is—”

“Jocelyn Fairchild,” Magnus said. “Yes, I knew her mother.” He passed his hand over Clary’s body, his lips turning downward. “I don’t understand how this is possible.”

“What is it?” Jace asked. 

“The block is separating,” Magnus said, “the demonic and angelic parts of her.”

For a moment, no one spoke. Luke’s coffee cup slipped from his hand and a dark puddle spread across the floor. Maia slapped a towel down on it, her eyes wide. Simon angled his head, his fangs peeking over his lips. Isabelle drew in a sharp breath, her grip on Jace’s hand tightening. Alec leaped to his feet as if expecting an attack, but Jace found he wasn’t as surprised as he should have been.

“What do you mean?” Luke finally asked. “The demonic and angelic parts of her?”

“Her veins run with demon and angel blood,” Magnus said. “Normally, this would destroy a Shadowhunter. The block is preventing the demon blood from overtaking her mind or the angelic powers of a Shadowhunter. I suspect it blocks the demonic nature as well.”

“Like what Professor Xavier had to do with Jean Grey so the Dark Phoenix wouldn’t get out of her mind?” Simon interjected.

Maia laughed softly, pressing a delicate hand to her mouth.

“What about the powewr in her hand?” Jace asked, ignoring the nerdy vampire.

Magnus lifted her palm, scrutinizing it. “It feels like all the angelic blood is focused in her hand whereas the demon blood is mostly in her mind. She uses this hand, doesn’t she, like a weapon?”

Jace nodded, thinking of the times she had used it. “I saw a rune there before, just for a second. What does it mean?” 

Magnus tilted her hand this way and that in the light. “I can’t see a rune, but I can feel the power. It’s generating and flowing even now. It seems to be… healing her.”

“Healing her?” Jace repeated.

“Yes,” Magnus said. “It’s healing every part of her, returning her body to how it was meant to be.”

“How it was meant to be?” Jace asked.

Magnus looked at Isabelle, staring into her very soul, and she gasped sharply. Magnus merely nodded, scraped himself to his feet, and slumped back into the overstuffed armchair with an exhausted sigh. He dragged his hand over his face, smearing his glittering eyeliner in a hideous bruise-like smudge.

“What is it?” Alec asked his sister.

Isabelle wet her lips. “What’s something that can never be returned to a girl’s body?”

Alec stared at her blankly, but Jace understood after a moment’s thought.

“Her virginity,” he said softly.

Magnus nodded. “Exactly, but not only that,” he said. “If she were to lose an eye or an arm or be crippled in battle, the power would heal that too. It will heal anything that happens to her, returning her body to its original state, regardless of the cost to her.”

Jace bent over, putting his head between his knees, and Luke looked just as sick as he felt. 

…

It was Maia who had managed to break the silence that spread in the wake of Magnus’s words. She convinced everyone, even Simon, to get some rest in a mature voice that wasn’t going to take no for an answer so they’d better just agree. She shuffled Jace into some clean clothes and tossed Jonathon’s bloodied borrowed clothing into the trash. 

Isabelle and Alec had been up the entire night, too worried for Jace to sleep. Magnus was drained from using his magic faster and harder than he had ever needed to, tearing the Portal open with his bare hands. Simon needed some blood to replace all that he had lost when the sunlight burned him to the bone. Clary was still unconscious and Jace looked like he was about to follow at any minute, his eyes drooping. Maia brought out a mess of pillows and blankets and handed them out like rations.

Isabelle refused to leave Jace’s side and she was so warm that he couldn’t convince himself to push her away. He let her sleep beside him, pressed close on the couch beneath a thick afghan quilt. Alec made sure Magnus was comfortable as his way of thanks before he too settled in for some rest, pulling up an armchair so he could watch over Isabelle and Jace as they slept. Simon went off to the kitchen for some heated blood and then turned in as well. 

Only Maia and Luke remained awake. They sat together at the kitchen table, drinking coffee and blinking in the bright sunlight. It seemed almost impossible that the sun could be so bright in the midst of so much darkness, but that was the nature of the sun, moon, and Gods. They continued just as they always had no matter the plight of mortals.

“Do you think Clary’s working for Valentine?” Maia asked finally. “I know she’s like a daughter to you, especially since Jocelyn disappeared, but we might have to look at the big picture here.”

“I think she might be,” Luke confessed sorrowfully, “but only because of the demon blood. I’m sure she can’t control it. She might not even know that she ever helped Valentine. The block might separate that from her as well.”

“Will Valentine come looking for her?” Maia asked.

“Probably,” Luke said, “but I don’t think he’ll look for her here.”

“Then it’s safe for her to stay with us?” Maia continued hopefully.

But Luke murmured, “I don’t know.”

“What if something happens?” Maia whispered, pressing her fingers together.

Luke didn’t answer her. 

“Luke, what if something happens? What if she leads him to us, even unintentionally?” Maia repeated. “What if Valentine finds this place? You heard what Jace said about those demons. Could you kill Clary if you had to, Luke? Could you kill her to protect the rest of us? She’s a liability, you know that.”

Luke still didn’t answer. He sipped his coffee and stared out into the bright buttery daylight, looking as if he wished it was late enough in the day to have a drink. Then, there was the sound of the phone ringing and Maia went to answer it, taking an order for Chinese food and then hanging up sharply.

X X X

Short chapter, I know, but it was time I owed you some explanation and some half-way-decently-definitive answers after all that.

Questions, comments, concerns?


	37. Valentine's Plan: Pt I

Hey, just because I finished this story and m just posting chapters doesn’t mean I don’t still require reviews. I could still cut updates…

X X X

When Clary woke, it was a little after lunchtime and the air smelled of eggrolls, hot grease, and wet dog. She knew where she was by that smell alone. She heaved herself into a sitting position, holding the quilt to her naked chest. As she had suspected, she was in the police station and someone had left some clothes for her on the arm of the couch. Sunlight was sneaking in through the slats of the blinds, faintly illuminating the living room.

Magnus Bane was slumped in an armchair nearby, breathing quietly. She didn’t know what it was with immortals, but they had perfected the art of sleeping without snoring sometime during their long lives. He shifted as if feeling her gaze, snuggling deeper under the patchwork quilt and burying his face in the pillow.

There was the sound of a truck downshifting, but there weren’t many big rigs in Chinatown. Clary realized that she was hearing Alec snoring away like a freight engine, just as he had when they had all shared a hotel room after Valentine’s invasion. He was snoozing in an armchair, his blankets and pillow strewn across the floor.

Sleeping on the couch in front of Alec were Isabelle and Jace. They were stretched out together, their bodies meshing easily. Jace had his arm draped over her waist, holding her close and keeping her from sliding off the sofa. Isabelle’s hands weren’t visible and Clary had to chase away a little bubble of jealousy that welled in her heart.

Jace wasn’t hers and he never would be. She had betrayed him and probably attacked him if the lingering healing rune on his forehead was anything to go by. Her father had butchered his parents, murdered them in cold blood. She had no right to get jealous because he was sleeping with another girl.

Clary heaved herself off the couch, pressing a hand to her aching forehead. She couldn’t remember what had happened, but there was dried blood all over her clothes and her dress had been shredded. She gathered up the clothes that had been laid out for her and staggered down the hall towards the bathroom. 

She could hear Luke talking quietly to someone on the phone. It sounded like he was dealing with a small problem at his bookstore. Somewhere, there was the sound of teenage music that could have been coming from either Maia or Simon, but Clary didn’t stop to seek out either of them.

Instead, she rapped lightly on the bathroom door and opened when she received no answer. It seemed that most of the coup members were out and about doing whatever it was they did with their normal lives during the day so she’d have all the hot water to herself. Clary stripped off her ruined dress and found that all her bruises and injuries had been healed. There was a raised rune at her collarbone, gleaming dark. 

She studied her palm and her forehead, pressing her fingers to the warm skin. The last thing she remembered was Lilith and Lamia arriving at her house to speak with her father. She remembered fleeing the room with Jace and returning to her bedroom. Then, there was searing pain in her skull followed by black nothingness which happened every time Lilith or Lamia came to visit. But she had never woken up with her dress so bloodied and tattered. What had happened? 

With a sigh, she turned on the hot water and stepped beneath the warm spray with a pleasured sigh. Dried blood ran off her skin, swirling away down the drain. She scrubbed her hands through her tangled hair, thinking back to how gently Jace had helped her comb out the knots. He was so gentle, so kind, and so sweet beneath his prickly exterior. But she shook away those thoughts, reminding herself that Jace would never be hers. 

Instead, she focused on scrubbing all the dried blood from her skin as if that would help her feel better, as if that would actually make her clean.

She wasn’t sure exactly when she started crying but it was sometime after she finished cleaning herself up and was just enjoying the relaxing warmth of the water pouring over her head. She began to sob, harsh choking sounds that rattled from some broken part of her chest. She slid to her knees in the bottom of the tub and cried into her hands.

…

Jace woke when Isabelle started dreaming. She was twitching in his arms, her legs curling against him and her fingers knotting in his shirt. She murmured quietly in the throes of her dream, her lips curling into a small smile. Jace gently freed himself from her arms and rose cautiously from the couch. He covered her up, tucking the blankets neatly over her shoulders and under her waist. Alec was snoring like a trucker so Jace also dropped a pillow over his face to muffle the noise. Then, he picked Alec’s blanket up from the floor and covered his parabatai as well. 

Magnus Bane stirred quietly and his cat-like eyes flicked open. “Jace?”

“Shh,” Jace told the warlock. “Go back to sleep.”

“Why are you up?” Magnus asked, sleepily adjusting himself in the overstuffed armchair. 

“Isabelle’s dreaming,” Jace explained. “Besides, I’m starving.”

Magnus nodded and then rolled over as best he could in the chair, closing his eyes.

Jace pulled the blankets over the warlock and adjusted the blinds so that less sunlight was sneaking through. He made his way down the random hallways of the police station, sniffing the air. He could smell Chinese food cooking somewhere, but he wasn’t certain where. 

He found Luke in an office-like room stacked with books and obscure relics, but the older werewolf was on the phone and only gave Jace a small wave and quick smile. Jace returned the expression and patted his growling stomach by way of question. Luke pointed him in the right direction and turned his attention back to the telephone. Now that Jace had some direction, it was an easy matter to find the station’s large kitchen, half-guided by the delicious smell of Chinese food. 

Maia was standing behind the counter, chopping vegetables and meat. Slightly sickened, Jace watched as she popped a piece of raw steak into her mouth and chewed in a state of delight. There was a deep fryer on behind her and Jace could hear the delicious crackle of something cooking. His hunger overrode any qualms he had about talking to the werewolf girl.

“Hi,” he said loudly in the silence of the kitchen.

Maia whirled and the kitchen knife she had been using to cut vegetables sank into the wood beside Jace’s head. A piece of carrot fell of the blade and landed on the floor with a damp dull noise. When she recognized him, she gasped and immediately said, “I’m so sorry. I didn’t recognize you. You look like—” she cut herself off. “Do you want an eggroll?”

Jace plucked the blade from the wall. “Definitely,” he said.

Maia glanced at a little ticking timer that was shaped like a chicken. When it went off, it made an obnoxious clucking noise that was impossible to ignore. Maia quickly removed the metal basket from the fryer and dumped the fresh eggrolls onto a large plate. She patted off the excess grease with a paper towel and slid the plate towards Jace when he approached. 

“Be careful,” she warned him. “They’re hot.”

“Thanks.” 

Jace selected one and proceeded to cram half the eggroll into his mouth like a starving man. They were searing hot from the fryer and Jace’s eyes watered. He waved his hand around helplessly as if that would cool his burning mouth. Maia lifted her brow, but didn’t give him any pity.

“I warned you,” she said sternly. Then, she handed him a slice of cool carrot to soothe his burned mouth.

“You did,” Jace said, but polished off the rest of the eggroll. “These are delicious.”

“Thanks,” Maia said and continued chopping vegetables. She slipped another piece of raw meat into her mouth.

“Does that taste good?” Jace asked.

Maia, apparently thinking that he hadn’t been looking, cough meekly behind her hand. “Does what taste good?”

“Raw meat?” 

She glanced at him, but he looked genuinely curious so she decided to answer him rather than feed him some bogus answer. “Once I became a werewolf, I was sickened by my desire for raw meat, but it helps us not to hunt. It keeps our urges in check. There’s something… special about meat when it’s still raw.”

“Yeah,” Jace said. “But does it taste good?”

“Do you want a bite?” she asked.

He shook his head. “Just curious.”

“It just tastes like meat,” she told him. “Like eating a steak that’s a little too rare.”

“Ah,” Jace said and selected another eggroll from the platter. 

“Why do you care?” Maia asked suddenly. “Aren’t you a Shadowhunter?”

Jace nodded.

“Shouldn’t you care more about how to properly kill werewolves than what their taste in steak is?” Maia asked.

Jace chewed the eggroll thoughtfully. “There was a time that I would have agreed with you, but…” he said, “I don’t know. I was just curious. I know we have the Accords as a sort of truce, but I think it’d be nice if Downworlders and Shadowhunters could get along. It’s not as if we have nothing in common.” He was clearly thinking of the fight against Valentine Morgenstern.

Maia stared at him for a moment before turning away to take the next batch of eggrolls out of the fryer, silencing the clucking chicken timer. “Can I ask you something?” she asked after a long moment.

“Can I have another eggroll?”

She pushed the plate towards him and he nodded.

“Do they hurt?” she asked.

“What?”

She tipped her chin towards his exposed arms. The ink-black runes traced over much of his skin, intermingled with paler scars from where runes had been before. The twining rune that bound he and Alec together as parabatai stood out on his inner forearm, settling over his veins much like his own life-force. 

“The runes?”

Maia nodded.

“A little,” he told her, “but you get used to it.”

“Like getting tattoos?” she asked.

Jace shook his head. “Nah, it hurts worse than that. Besides, they go away after a while.”

“But… the scars…” 

Maia tilted her head, looking at Jace through her dark bangs, and he was stricken by the sight of the massive white scar on her arm. If Magnus hadn’t arrived when he had after Valentine’s attack, Jace would have a scar much like hers on his throat, maybe worse. Her hand moved to her forearm as if she felt his eyes. Or maybe she still felt the phantom pain of her long-healed injury. Jace knew he certainly still did. He had to clench his fingers to prevent them from wandering to his throat. 

“It looks painful,” she said finally.

“It can be,” Jace told her softly and reached for another eggroll.

He remained in the kitchen for a while with her, standing at the counter eating eggrolls in companionable silence. He was listening to the rhythmic sounds of her chopping meat and vegetables and the sizzling crackle of the fryer and these sounds were surprisingly relaxing. Jace was beginning to think he could go back to sleep at this rate. Finishing off his last eggroll, he thanked Maia for her hospitality and left the large kitchen. He was on his way back to the living room and his sleeping friends when he heard it.

Someone was crying.

…

Clary had crumpled even further in the bottom of the tub like a house of cards when she heard the light knock. At first, she ignored it in the hopes that it would go away, but whoever it was kept right on knocking until she had no choice but to acknowledge them.

“What?” she moaned.

“Clary?” 

Her heart skipped a beat. “Jace?” she breathed, but her voice was lost beneath the rataplan of the water falling over her body.

“Are you alright?” he asked. “Are you crying?”

“No,” she said, raising her voice to be heard over the shower and hoping she sounded convincing. “No. Go away.”

There was silence in the bathroom and the hallway, broken only by the harsh wet sounds of her breathing. She let out a small sigh of relief, pleased that it had been so easy to send the Shadowhunter boy away. Even though a small traitorous part of her wished that he had come into the bathroom and held her and kissed her and— 

The shower curtain was drawn back by a pale long-fingered hand with dark runes on the back of it and scars on the knuckles. 

Clary yelped, curling in on herself. “Jace! Get out!” she protested.

But Jace didn’t leave. Instead, he reached in and shut off the water. Clary shivered in the bottom of the tub as the warm water drained out, leaving her bare and naked. Jace took a towel from the rack, fluffed it out, and draped it over her where she was crumpled in the bottom of the tub. He knelt beside the tub, his elbows resting on the edge of it, and watched her. 

“You’re crying,” he said softly.

“It’s just water,” she protested, but wiped her aching eyes with the towel regardless.

“It’s not,” he murmured. “What’s wrong?”

Clary sat up, using the towel as a shield between her naked body and Jace, and didn’t answer him. She pushed her soaked red hair back over her shoulders and combed her fingers through it lamely, pressing her fingertips to the lingering healing rune on her collarbone.

“Magnus told us about it, about you,” Jace said softly. 

Clary froze, her green eyes going wide with shock and horror. “What?” she breathed out.

“He told us about the demon blood and the angel blood,” Jace told her. “He told us about the rune in your hand, about what it does to you, and about the block in your mind.”

Goosebumps broke out all over Clary’s bare skin and a shudder ran through her. Her mouth opened, but no sounds came out.

Jace reached out to touch her, but she flinched away. He curled his fingers over the rim of the tub awkwardly. “Did you know, Clary?” he asked finally.

She closed her eyes and a few tears slipped beneath the fans of her lashes. She bit her lip nervously and nodded shakily. “Of course,” she whispered in a voice that was so small and timid that it broke Jace’s heart. “It’s my body, after all.”

When he reached out to touch her this time, she didn’t shy away. Her skin was cold to the touch and she shivered beneath the warmth of Jace’s fingers.

“My father,” she whispered, “he’s tainted his children for his own purposes. He did this to me. He made me into this… thing that can never love or be loved. He’s mutated my body to his own designs so that it will always be perfect and usable… no matter what happens to it or to me.” She drew in a shuddering breath. “I can always feel the demon inside me, pressing against the barrier, trying to get out so it can kill.”

“Is that why you wouldn’t tell the Silent Brothers anything?” Jace whispered.

She wiped her eyes with the towel, shuddering away from him like a bird with a shattered wing, frightened and unable to fly. “The Clave will kill me if they know what I am. They’ll kill me without a second thought. I’m not… human anymore.” 

Jace didn’t know what to say. He had suspected that there was more to Clary than met the eye, but he had never suspected that Valentine would have used his own children as experiments to further his devices. “What is Valentine planning?” he asked instead.

Clary sniffled through her tears, knotting her fingers in the material of the towel. “A direct attack on the Clave.”

Jace was about to say that Valentine was totally crazy and such a thing was impossible. The Clave was situated in the center of the greatest Shadowhunter city, protected by the finest warriors and countless wards against Downworlders and demons. Valentine would never even make it to the gates of the city. That was as impossible as a demon trying to enter the walled Vatican City of Rome. It wasn’t merely impossible and foolish—it was also suicide.

But Clary was shaking her head as if she could read Jace’s mind. “No, not for him,” she whispered. “He’ll use us. He’ll use Jonathon and me.”

“What did he do to Jonathon?” Jace asked. “Is he like you?”

“Jonathon loves our father,” she whimpered. “Loves him so much and trusts him—not like me. Jonathon’s been imbued with more demon blood than he ever should have tasted and with it, he’s been given the skill and abilities of Downworlders, like Lilith’s warlocks.”

“The abilities of Downworlders? Lilith’s warlocks?” 

Clary tipped her head in a shaky nod. “Lilith is the mother of all warlocks. Lamia, having devoured her own children, is the mother of vampires. And there have been others… (1) My father tempts them with prospect of the world without the Clave and Shadowhunters, tempts them with a world where they could all rule. It’s a world they could own in full.” 

“That’s insane,” Jace breathed, hardly able to believe what she was telling him.

Clary gasped, leaned forward harshly, and her hands closed suddenly over the neck of his shirt before Jace could even think to move. She pulled him sharply forward into the side of the tub so that his knees and elbows knocked painfully and he winced. Clary’s eyes were wide and bloodshot with horror, having apparently realized she had not betrayed just her own secrets, but her father’s as well.

“You can’t tell the Clave,” she whispered hoarsely. “You can’t tell anyone.”

Jace pried at her fingers, suddenly nervous. “We have to tell them. Otherwise, it will be a slaughter,” he said. “I’ve seen you fight before. You took down a Forsaken with a single touch. What do you think you could do to Shadowhunters if you tried?”

Clary made a pathetic sound in her chest. “I know,” she whimpered, “but…” Tears rolled down her cheeks unchecked and deep sobs wracked her small body. She leaned forward, burying her face against her towel-covered knees, and her shoulders trembled. “I don’t want to die,” she whispered finally in a small broken voice. “I don’t want to die…”

Jace’s breath caught in his chest, rattling like broken bones. He drew Clary into his arms, pulling her over the rim of the tub and into his lap. She shivered in his embrace, whispering endlessly that she didn’t want to die. He stroked her sodden hair, tucking her close against his chest. She pressed to him tightly, her hand over his heart.

“Jace,” she whispered softly, her voice breaking like ice when water was poured over it. “Jace…”

He hooked his fingers beneath her chin and lifted her face slightly. Her eyes were red-rimmed from crying and her lips were chapped, but she was still beautiful. He pressed his lips to her forehead and she shivered again. Her fingers knotted in his shirt, pulling him closer like a frightened child. Jace touched his nose to her cheek, rubbing her cool skin lightly. She turned her head to face him, their noses brushing softly. His breath was warm and sweet with fried eggrolls and Clary closed her eyes. He closed the scant space between them, pressing a kiss to her lips. 

She sighed in bliss, clinging to his shoulders and shirt and abandoning her hold on the towel that was covering her nudity. Jace’s arms tightened around her back, sliding into her tangled red tresses like a flower seeking more sunlight. He opened his mouth, his tongue warm on her lips before she welcomed him inside. It was easy to kiss him, easier than it had ever been to kiss anyone. In fact, Clary was beginning to think she wanted this. She wanted to feel his arms around her and his lips on hers until the world broke apart beneath her.

As if sensing her thoughts, Jace pulled her so close it was as if he wanted to press her inside his body where she would be safe forever. He deepened the kiss and her heart began to pound in tempo with his where they were pressed chest-to-chest. The dampness of her hair seeped into his shirt and the towel slid lower. Jace’s scarred callused hands pressed to the smooth skin of her back, running down her spine and stopped before he reached her bottom.

Then, as smoothly as silk, he broke the kiss, but didn’t move away. He remained close, his arms still tight and his heart still pounding. Their foreheads were pressed together, their noses touched softly, and their breath mingled warmly. Clary angled her chin without breaking the contact to lightly kiss him again. Jace didn’t pull away, just held her, held her as if there was nothing wrong with her at all. She pressed her hand to his throat and he let her, trusting—stupidly trusting.

Clary pulled away, tugging the towel up over her bare breasts. 

Jace’s arms constricted around her waist, unwilling to let her go.

Clary opened her mouth to say something. 

But then the bathroom door opened and Luke was standing in the threshold, stricken. He might have been leader of a dangerous coup to oppose Valentine, but he had known Clary since she was a little girl, no matter what she had become now, and he was first and foremost a father figure. Finding Clary naked beneath a towel on the bathroom floor with Jace was not anything a father wanted to discover. He started to work himself up, prepared to lecture them both until he was blue in the face. 

But Jace quickly untangled himself from Clary, turned her away from Luke as she adjusted her towel, and laid on the charm. It was very easy to distract Luke from the current situation with definitive information about Valentine’s plan to attack the Clave using Clary and Jonathon. Luke fell silent, his eyes still wide and his mouth hanging open in shock.

“Luke?” Jace asked.

“I’ll call the others,” the older werewolf said. “Now, get dressed, Clary.”

X X X

(1) I read on the Shadowhunter Wiki that Lilith is the mother of all warlocks, I’m just running with this idea since Valentine’s plans are all kind of weird and stupid anyway. 

Questions, comments, concerns?

Review!


	38. Valentine's Plan: Pt II

Everyone should thank beverlie4055, Espeon, and Beckett. They’ve the only ones who reviewed an it’s only because of them that you’re even getting a chapter.

I just finished watching Legend of Korra, Season Two: Spirits. (It wasn’t the original, but it was still quite good.) But one thought is running through my head right now… “You may not keep the spirit of light in a teapot!”

X X X

Magnus Bane was not happy to be woken up so soon after using such an exhausting spell to save Jace, Clary, and Simon’s asses from certain death. What could these people possibly have to talk about so early in the morning? What could possibly be so important that it couldn’t wait until at least lunch time? 

Magnus shuffled after Alec and Isabelle grouchily. (How could they be so alert and awake after such a rough night anyway? Just looking at their cheerful smiling faces made Magnus want to clobber both of them with a pillow until they were unconscious.) He accepted a cup of coffee from Luke without a smile or word of thanks and then slumped down in a chair at the kitchen table in the kitchen. He poked his finger into his coffee and stirred it until it was just the right temperature. Then, he guzzled it while he half-listened to the far-to-early conversation.

“Valentine will launch his attack on the Clave in two days time,” Clary continued, wringing her hands, “provided that he got whatever he wanted from Lilith and Lamia. I’m sure he did… They always give him their blood.”

Magnus promptly choked on his coffee and fell into a fit of wheezing, gasping, and choking. Isabelle gave him a pat on the back that felt more like the blow from a hammer and Alec slid his sister a withering look before gently brushing some glitter off Magnus’s shoulder.

“What was that?” Magnus half-shouted. “An attack on the Clave?”

Clary’s green eyes went so wide that Magnus could see into her soul. Everyone had been listening to her speak in stricken silence mingled with exhaustion that his sudden shouting certainly startled her.

“Haven’t you been listening, Magnus?” Jace demanded, equal parts cranky and concerned.

“No,” Magnus said honestly. “If I thought it was something important, I would have. I just figured you people needed another chat about the weather!”

“Who chats about the weather this early in the morning after the night we just had? I got about an hour of sleep! Even someone undead needs more than that!” Simon asked, rubbing the new skin on his arm and yawning. He looked about as tired as Magnus felt. Healing from so much sun exposure took a lot out of a vampire. “If this was just a weather conference, I would have slept through it.”

Maia handed Simon a cup of something that was certainly not coffee and an eggroll.

Luke—who had the most patience and caffeine out of the assembly—quickly recounted everything to Magnus. The warlock now listened closely, his glitter-fringed eyes darting from Luke to Clary to Jace and back. When Luke finished, Magnus sat back in his chair and let out a heaving sigh. 

“I was afraid of this,” Magnus said.

Isabelle smacked him in the shoulder. “As if you knew this was going to happen,” she said.

“I’ve suspected,” Magnus snapped at her. “I am a warlock.”

“One of Lilith’s children,” Clary whispered.

Jace helped her slide into a chair, pulling her wet hair back from her face and resting both his hands on her shoulders. “Magnus is an old friend,” he told her. “He’s the one who told us about you—about your hand and your body, about everything.”

Clary looked up into his face and smiled softly, nervously, timidly. Then, she turned back to Magnus and whispered something that might have been ‘Thank you…’

Magnus nodded swiftly, took a sip of coffee, and continued, “I knew why Valentine attacked the Herondales. I tried to warn Stephen, but he was convinced he could protect his family. Celine was not so certain and that’s why I taught her how to call me in the fire.”

“Do you know what Valentine wants with the angel? With Amaranth?” Simon asked.

Magnus shook his head. “Not at the time, no, but I suspect it was to use her blood to experiment on his children. Where did he get the blood he used on you, Clary?”

She shied away, shivering under Jace’s hands. It was clear she wasn’t comfortable admitting that she was her father’s experiment—poisoned by both demon and angel blood, both at war inside her body, tearing her to pieces, making her a mere weapon and nothing more.

“Hey,” Jace said softly, squeezing her shoulders. “It’s okay.”

“After… after the first time I was raped… he summoned her with prayers,” Clary whispered. “He said he wanted to save me, make me pure again, and the angel took pity on him and on me. She came and when she did, he killed her and drained all her blood. He used part of it on my hand—to give me this… power… He still has some left.”

Luke pushed both hands through his hair. “Valentine killed an angel… My god…”

Clary glanced at him and then back to Magnus. When Magnus didn’t speak, she looked up at Jace. “I didn’t try to help the angel,” Clary said self-deprecatingly. “I just watched her die.”

Jace didn’t speak, thinking of the beautiful angel who had been kept safe in his basement for centuries. Amaranth… He couldn’t imagine what kind of monster was heartless enough to murder an angel or to watch one die. He started to pull away, but Magnus turned his bright cat-eyes to Clary and Jace froze suddenly.

“Don’t say that like you did it on purpose,” Magnus said to her coolly. “The demon blood inside your body is old and strong. You were just like Jonathon when the angel was killed, weren’t you? You were all demon inside. It was only the angel’s blood that restored you.”

Clary looked away. “I don’t know if that’s true,” she whispered, but she sounded as if she hoped it was.

Luke reached out to her, pushing Jace’s hand away to replace it with his own. “It is,” he told her softly. “You’re a good person, Clary.”

“Yeah,” Simon put in, setting down his blood-encrusted mug with a snap. “This battle will be a piece of cake with you on our side.”

A shudder went through Clary’s body and Magnus started to shake his head. Suddenly, like a bolt of lightning, the memory of Clary’s attack flashed through Jace’s mind—her pitch black eyes, her snarling teeth, the curl of her fingers into claws, the pain of her grip as she smothered him. Then, he thought of how she had torn at her own body, screaming ‘No’ and ‘I won’t’ as she lashed at herself with the power in her hand. She had been trying to kill herself, but not only that, she had been trying to stop herself.

Jace pressed a hand over his mouth, abruptly nauseous. 

“Jace?” Alec asked, putting a hand to his parabatai’s back and rubbing comfortingly.

“Are you alright?” Isabelle asked him. The curtain of her dark hair and the scent of her perfume were some solace, scented with roses and leather and soap.

Clary closed her eyes, turning her face away, ashamed. She already knew—of course, she already knew.

“What is it?” Simon asked, turning away from his half-full mug. Even a punk vampire like him could sense that something terrible was being exchanged in this moment. “I don’t understand.” 

Luke waited patiently, looking at Magnus with expectance. 

“I… I can’t,” Clary whispered to break the silence that had fallen over the kitchen.

“What do you mean?” Simon asked her, gripping her shoulder and trying to make her meet his eyes. 

Clary refused, keeping her eyes down and her hands folded tightly in her lap. Her throat flashed as she swallowed, the pulse of blood beating darkly there beneath her white skin. It was so like the demon that lived beneath the facade of her angel face.

“Clary won’t be able to help us,” Magnus told them. “In fact, she will be our enemy in this.”

“What?” Maia whispered, that one word encompassed the shock that they all felt.

Jace nodded weakly, ill with the memories of Clary ripping her skin to shreds with her nails.

“Valentine will call her to arms and the demon inside her will answer,” Magnus continued. “It will come when her father calls because that’s what it wants.”

“But you can fight it, can’t you, Clary?” Simon asked.

She started to nod, her eyes and skin like glass.

Jace interrupted, sick at heart that she would even try to agree with Simon no matter the cost to herself. “She can’t,” he said sternly. “That’s what you were doing, wasn’t it, Clary? The demon in you wanted to kill me, but you tried to fight it. When you realized you couldn’t hold it back, you tried to kill yourself. You ripped your body apart trying to stop, didn’t you?”

A single tear slipped down her cheek. “It doesn’t matter. I can—”

Luke pulled her into his embrace, stroking her wet hair. “Oh Clary,” he murmured.

She crumpled into his arms, but didn’t cry. She just clung to him like he was the last piece of driftwood in a storm, her entire body shaking. Simon looked like he wanted to comfort his friend, but couldn’t find the words or the gesture to say anything at all. He stared at her, his eyes gleaming. Maia sat back in her chair, her hand pressed to the hideous scar on her arm, gaze far-seeing. Jace wanted to lean in and give Clary some comfort—wanted so badly to hold her—but he forced himself back. He sensed that this was not a moment he was welcome in.

Only Magnus, Isabelle, and Alec remained collected.

“We have to tell the Clave,” Isabelle said, breaking through the heavy stillness that had fallen over the kitchen in the wake of Magnus’s proclamation. “They need to know and be ready.”

Alec shook his head. “They’ll never believe us. They’re certain Valentine has been cowed into hiding at the very least. They don’t expect to ever hear from him again—nevertheless expect an attack on their central city.”

“Besides,” Jace put in. “They won’t believe it just because I’m involved. I’m sure Hodge told them countless times how obsessed I am with killing Valentine.”

Clary shuddered silently.

Alec nodded in agreement. “We’re just kids and they certainly won’t believe a coup of Downworlders.”

“We need a plan,” Isabelle said. “We need help, allies, weapons. We can’t do anything alone.”

Luke straightened, easing Clary back against her chair with gentle hands. He ran a hand through his hair, a grey streak standing out sharply as he did so. “My pack will help us,” he said swiftly. “And the coup! I’ll contact them right away.”

Maia rose as well. “I have some friends who might help—a few fairies, a centaur I knew in high school, and a fair amount of nymphs. Another werewolf my age who might know some people.”

Jace made a face, recalling when he had picked a fight with a nymph and lost pretty badly. They weren’t exactly warriors, but it was always an ugly fight that was half-cheating because they could disguise themselves as trees that were twice as tough as they looked. “Nymphs?” he repeated.

Maia gave him a little smile that spoke volumes. “Before I joined the coup, I was a pretty big hippie. I convened with nature.”

“Maureen might help,” Simon put in, “if I ask her nicely.”

“Then ask her nicely,” Isabelle said. “We can contact some other Shadowhunters. Right, Alec?”

“I don’t know if anyone would help us,” he said dourly.

“What about the Penhallows? Don’t you still talk to them?”

Alec gnawed his lip. “Aline might help us,” he said. “And she knows more people our age. She might be able to get some people involved.”

“What about adults?” Simon put in. “Don’t you have any adult Shadowhunters that would help out? I think we have enough underdeveloped teenagers in the middle of a war to save the world as we know it.”

“Like you can talk,” Isabelle snapped at him.

He gave her a stiff middle finger, apparently too tired to think of a good rebuttal.

“What about warlocks?” Jace asked. “Magnus?”

“Warlocks are too smart for squabbles like this,” Magnus said. “It’s bad enough I’m involved. Any warlock I talk to will head for the hills and wait for all this to blow over. One of them might come to sift me from the ashes at the end though.”

After that, everyone started talking at once as they discussed what could be done about Valentine’s plan in such a short amount of time. Maia, Luke, and Simon pulled out cell phones to sort through contacts and wade through the social circles of the underworld. Magnus turned to the side and began speaking very animatedly to the empty air next to his ear. Jace was about to say something to the warlock when Alec pulled him aside to ask him his opinion on contacting some of Isabelle’s ex-boyfriends for help. Isabelle was about to tell them not to dare when Clary spoke.

“Wait.” 

Even though Clary’s voice was small amidst all the other voices talking, that single word drew all conversation to a swift halt. Luke clicked his phone shut after a shift word that he would call whoever it was right back. Clary hadn’t moved from her position on the stiff chair, not even to push back her mussed red hair which hung in sheets in her eyes. She looked pale and thin, like a glass of water that had been drained or shattered.

“Why would you do all of this?” she asked. 

Jace stretched out his hand and tucked her hair behind her ear. “We have to,” he said gently. “Valentine killed my parents, he kidnapped the angel, and he tortured you. He has to pay for everything he’s done tenfold.” Then, a wicked grin spread across Jace’s lips. “Besides, I’ve been waiting for this moment for a long time.”

For a moment, Clary looked stricken, but her expression sobered into one of understanding. “Yes,” she murmured. “My father—no—Valentine must pay.”

X X X

Questions, comments, concerns?

Review.


	39. The Beginning of the End

You know, throughout the whole last chapter, I was thinking of that movie “John Tucker Must Die.”

X X X

Things came together quickly after that, but it wasn’t as if they had all the time in the world to plan and procrastinate. Even so, it was the day of Valentine’s attack when everything came together.

Magnus Bane put in a call to a fellow warlock who, as he had expected, refused to help but promised to bury their bodies at the end. After that, he set to work trying to craft something that would be able to contain Clary in all her demonic and angelic power should her father call her to battle. She sat beside him at the kitchen table while he drew up sketches and plans, telling him anything he asked about her. She was pale as they did so, but resolved.

Jace, Alec, and Isabelle returned to the Institute. Isabelle left a note explaining to the Clave what had happened should they all be wiped out by Valentine. Then, her brother and Jace both signed it beneath her elegantly penned signature. Jace gave Church one final pet as they left and the Persian meowed mournfully, but none of them looked back at their home. After everything that had happened—Valentine, Clary, Hodge—it didn’t feel like home anymore.

Maia’s friends came quickly through various portals and shadows and sudden sun showers that had Simon shrinking for cover. The nymphs were as beautiful as they were strong and strange. Another young werewolf named Jordan joined them, bringing a few of his own friends with him. The two of them greeted each other like old friends and then kissed in a way that was far more than friendly until Luke broke them apart with a lot of fatherly arm-waving.

The coup arrived in droves as if they had been waiting for this moment expressly. There were countless werewolves of all ages, some scarred from many battles and others younger than Maia and Jordan. Simon’s fellow vampire, Maureen, swathed in a heavy coat and a sombrero to hide from the painful sunlight. She greeted Simon with a shy smile and then introduced herself to everyone, telling Jace how happy she was that he had escaped Valentine’s clutches.

A few of the Shadowhunters Alec had contacted arrived later. Aline Penhallow and Helen Blackthorn were among the first, followed by several other teens just itching for a fight to save the world as they knew it like they heard about in legends and fables. They all looked suitably shocked to find Jace, Isabelle, and Alec—the top Shadowhunters in their age group—rubbing elbows with all these Downworlders, but they were luckily smart enough not to make any rude comments.

Finally, everyone had arrived.

Luke was standing at the front window looking out, impervious to all attempts to call him.

Jace walked over to him and gripped the older werewolf’s shoulder. “Luke?” he asked.

Clary came up on Jace’s side, her expression steadfast and yet sad. “She won’t come, will she?” Clary asked Luke.

“I didn’t think she would,” Luke said with a sigh. “But I sent out the call and I was hoping…”

“Jocelyn Fairchild-Morgenstern?” Jace asked softly.

Luke nodded. “I thought Jocelyn would come for this. This is what we’ve been waiting for. This is why we built this coup, why we did all of this.”

Jace didn’t want to be the one to suggest that Jocelyn might be dead so he held in the words and studied Luke and Clary. The expressions on their faces spoke that they had already come to that conclusion on their own anyway. 

Alec came up behind Jace, pulling him away from the window. “We’re ready,” he said.

Jace nodded silently and then reached out to Clary. “It’s time,” he said. 

She turned to face him, staring into his eyes for the longest moment. He thought she might kiss him, embrace him, but she didn’t even though he half-wished she would. Instead, she just smiled weakly before approaching Magnus with her hands outstretched. “I’m ready,” she told him without a backwards glance at Jace.

The warlock lifted his hands and showered Clary in a rain of blue sparks. She closed her eyes, breathing in deeply as the magic rained down on her. As everyone watched, the light solidified into the shape of a great cross and Clary was drawn back against it like a martyr. Some unseen force lifted her from the floor, the magic twining around and around her body. Her arms lifted, echoing the shape of the cross, and were bound securely. The bright bonds didn’t fade, holding their shape and color as she tugged experimentally at them.

“Do you think it will hold?” Magnus asked her.

Clary wet her lips. “I hope so,” she said. “I know Valentine will call for me.”

Magnus inclined his head slightly and then moved to the wall beside the large refrigerator. He began to shape a portal in the wall, sketching out runes that would encourage the magic to remain usable even if something happened to him—even if he died.

“Last chance to pee before we go,” Simon said jokingly.

No one laughed, but a few people did move towards the bathroom.

Jace watched Magnus for a moment, but his eyes were drawn to Clary where she was restrained against the magic cross. Her blood-red hair hung in sheets over her shoulders, her breast rose and fell softly as she breathed, and she was wearing simple jeans and a t-shirt. Yet she was still so beautiful, even if she was Valentine’s daughter, even if she had demon blood inside her. Jace moved away from the assembly of Shadowhunters to stand before her. She was so short that the hovering of Magnus’s magic restraints left them even with each other.

She met his eyes, but didn’t speak.

Though Jace wanted to say something witty, something that would make her smile and give her the strength to fight her father’s call, nothing came to him. He just looked at her, holding her jewel-like eyes in his own and studying the play of blood beneath her skin. She just looked at him, her expression unreadable and lit eerily by the bright magic. Jace reached out, tucking a strand of wild hair behind her ear. She wet her lips, but still didn’t speak. For a moment, Jace wondered if anyone was watching them, but then he didn’t really care.

He closed the small space between them, pressing his lips to hers in a sweet soft kiss. Clary let out a startled breath, but then melted desperately into the kiss. Jace could taste her fear, her strength, her will to fight, and he tried to convey the same feelings. He deepened the kiss, his hands curling around her waist, and she strained against the bonds to be closer to him. He wanted to give her courage and hope and strength and actions did always speak louder than words. 

Softly, he broke the kiss bit kept his forehead pressed to hers.

She was panting softly, her eyes like great green oceans. “Jace,” she whispered.

He smiled and said, “Wish us luck.”

She dipped her chin slightly, the ghost of a nod. “I will, but I hope you won’t need it.”

Cheekily, Jace grinned at her, but said nothing.

Alec called his name.

Jace turned away from Clary and was surprised to find that most of the coup had gone through Magnus’s portal and the kitchen was nearly empty. He must have been kissing Clary for a long time. Without a brave backwards glance, Jace stepped through the portal with Isabelle and Alec.

“Are you ready for this?” Alec asked him.

Jace nodded. “I’ve been waiting for this moment my whole life—for my chance to kill Valentine.”

“Don’t lose your head,” Magnus said, stepping into the portal just behind them and moving through the void of light. “I can’t come to save you if you get yourself killed.”

Jace set his jaw, his teeth grinding. “No one but Valentine will die tonight.”

Isabelle slipped her hand into his and gave a soft squeeze, conveying all the words she didn’t dare speak.

Then, they stepped through the end of the portal and into the vast clearing of Brocelind Plain with the rest of the coup. Despite the large group of people, it was quiet. Everyone waited, some seeing the City of Glass for the very first time while others were revisiting memories of the past. Maia and Jordan shared a kiss and then released each other’s hands. After the light of the portal, it was painfully dark and it took a moment for Jace’s eyes to adjust. 

The sky was lit with stars here in Idris and the moon hung high like the eye of God watching, closer here than it ever was in New York. Alicante stood on the horizon, lit up like a sainted city, looking untouchable and strong and as still as a photograph on a post card. There was barely even a breeze in the night. The entire world seemed to be holdings its breath, as if it sensed what was to come, as if it knew the danger, as if death had already come. 

Then, a small rumble went through the earth. It was faint, so faint that Jace wouldn’t have even noticed if he hadn’t been standing so still with the others. Suddenly, in the heart of Alicante, there was a roaring explosion that lit up the sky. Fire leaped towards the heavens in a great plume, smoke billowing forth.

“No,” Isabelle whispered.

“We’re too late,” Magnus said and then cursed in a language Jace didn’t understand.

“Go!” came Luke’s cry, leading the coup to charge as he had always intended to at Jocelyn’s side. 

Alec took off running at the same moment Jace did, sprinting across the fields towards the burning city. Luke let out a low growl, his shape changing, and a moment later the werewolf was loping ahead of them. His stride was longer and built for running, swiftly overtaking the Shadowhunters. Jace pushed himself harder, pulling up just at Luke’s heels. A moment later, Maia and Jordan joined them, howling out a battle cry that was soon echoed by everyone else. 

Jace caught himself screaming for war, but swallowed back the sound. He thought of his father, butchered in his attempts to protect his family and the angel. He thought of his mother, using her last strength to summon Magnus Bane to save her child. He thought of Valentine’s blade slitting his throat, the blossom of hot blood, the kiss of death, and then Magnus’s healing rune in his torn throat. The scar burned. He thought of Clary, cursed and experimented upon, raped and abused, so strong and so beautiful. He thought of her kiss. Then, he thought of the angel, Amaranth, who had been sheltered beneath his house and protected by his family for so long. The war cry returned to his throat and he let it out in rage.

As they approached, Jace felt the heat of the city burning.

…

Clary looked at the bonds that held her to Magnus’s magic cross. He had hoped that the religious symbol would help the angel in her fight against the demon as well as restrain her in a position that was very difficult to fight. Truly, she couldn’t get any leverage in her arms to even consider pulling against the bonds. Even so, she vaguely wished to. She wished she could join the battle, fight alongside Luke and Simon, fight at Jace’s side.

But she knew she was a danger to them and that it was better for her here in the station, bound to the magical cross. She leaned her head back, breathing out slowly, willing her strength to be with her friends in this hard time. Magnus’s magic flickered and she knew the fight had begun. 

Valentine always did like to be early for everything.

She squeezed her eyes shut, breathing out. Already, she could feel the demon in her seething against the bonds inside her mind. It pressed against the block, surged against the runes, struggled to combat the angelic blood in her hand. Clary pressed it back, containing it like a virus against her sternum and collarbones. 

She waited for the call.

She waited for it.

She waited.

And waited…

Waited…

The demon snarled against the cage of her mind, impatient and angry. Clary closed her eyes, holding the images of Simon and Luke in her heart, imagining what her mother must look like now. Would she be beautiful? Then, she thought of Jace, remembered his tenderness towards her and the taste of his kiss. 

Would the call for her come?

She knew it would.

But when…?

…

Amaranth pressed her hands against the bars of her cage. Since she couldn’t see, she wasn’t certain that it truly was a cage, but by stretching out her hands, she could feel bars on all sides of her. The world rocked beneath her as the cage was moved, as if she was merely a bird to be transported. 

She stretched her hand passed the bars, reaching into the void beyond, wondering what she would find. She made a sound without words, using her sweet voice in an attempt to call to someone for help. No one answered her cry. Amaranth felt the whisper of fabric and sensed the presence of weapons.

Abruptly, someone grabbed her exposed wrist and squeezed. She hissed, trying to pull away, but the grip was iron around porcelain. She folded her other hand over the rough fingers gripping her wrist and stretched out her mind, her heart, her power.

“Valentine Morgenstern,” Amaranth said coolly.

“I will never understand why a blind angel who fell to earth and broke her wings was ever important enough for the Herondales to sacrifice themselves,” Valentine said cruelly.

“Jace still lives,” she said.

“Not for much longer,” Valentine said.

Amaranth felt the muscles in his hand bunch as he moved to release her, but she clenched her fingers into his flesh. Her strength was feeble and yet she refused to let Valentine go. He tried to pull away again, but her grip was like a trap. 

“You will not succeed,” Amaranth said to him. “You will be stopped.”

“By who?” Valentine snarled at her. He grabbed her wrist and squeezed the pressure point to make her fingers go numb, but she still held on.

“You will be stopped,” Amaranth said again with conviction like stone.

Valentine’s lip curled back over his teeth. She sensed his rage as much as she couldn’t see it. “Try it, little angel,” he snapped at her and the air moved as he lashed out at her. Amaranth released him immediately and drew her arms back within the safety of the cage. Valentine’s blade clashed against the bars and he cursed.

She leaned against the bars, breathing deeply. She could smell demons, but she was certain she could smell something else that no one else could. She could smell Shadowhunters and Downworlders, she could smell help coming.

Then, there was an explosion that rocked the core of the world. They were so close to it that debris rained down on Amaranth, sparks and ash.

Amaranth felt countless lives snuff out and fly into the sky like petals of a scattered flower. She clasped her hands to her mouth, horror ringing inside her like a bell. Her very bones shook with it. She heard Valentine laugh, malicious and cruel, and she screamed.

X X X

Questions, comments, concerns? 


	40. The Glass City Breaks

You know, leaving reviews can get me to update sooner.

X X X

In the wake of the explosion, the Glass City lived up to its name. Jace and Alec opened the gates to the city and the werewolves poured in after them. Much of the city had been leveled by the explosion, rubble and glass everywhere. Bodies and blood were strewn in the streets. Moans of pain and death filled the once-silent night. People were screaming and there was the distant roar of demons.

A nymph drew up alongside Jace, the flowers in her hair closing as if to protect themselves from the heat and horror. “Angel,” she said in her broken English that sounded like a babbling stream. “Demons. Fight!” Then, in a swirl of leaves and silken cloth, she drew her bow and leaped into the night sky, taking flight like a bird in a direction Jace didn’t understand.

Maia leaped after her friend, howling, and several other werewolves peeled from the group to follow her.

Magnus lifted his hands. White light tinged with blood-red leaped from the bodies of those who lay dying in the streets. Their lingering life force swirled into an orb that Magnus pressed between his palms until it looked like a glass marble and tucked into his pocket. Jace tried not to think about what he would do with it later.

Jace looked around, trying not to see the ruin before him, trying to focus on finding Valentine and putting an end to this. Alec drew his sword and began to move away from them. Isabelle followed suit, her whip whispering over the ruined street. 

Magnus took them both by their elbows. “No,” he said, “This way.”

“What?” Alec asked, pulling free.

“Valentine,” was all Magnus said.

Jace’s blood boiled. 

…

The door to the station burst open, crashing into the wall, and Clary was pulled harshly from her musings. Her head snapped up and she looked at the threshold just in time to see her brother step through. His hair shone like polished glass, his eyes like pits, his mouth twisted into a malevolent smile.

“Hello, little sister,” Jonathon said.

Clary turned her face away and refused to answer him. 

“Now, don’t be like that,” he said. “I’ve come to get you out of here so you can do what you were born to do—what we were both born to do.”

“No,” Clary said, hiding her face within her hair. It was the color of blood behind her eyes, like she was inside herself.

Jonathon approached quietly, his footsteps barely a whisper, and reached out to touch the magical bonds that held her. The moment his fingers touched them, searing lightning bolted from the cross, and he tore back with a shout of pain. Clutching his burned hands to his chest, he glared at her.

“What is this?”

“Magic,” Clary said. “It will contain me, all of me.”

“Is that so?” Jonathon asked with a sneer.

“Yes,” she said. “I helped to design it.”

Jonathon tipped his head back and laughed cruelly. “Well, isn’t that funny? You think you can be controlled? You think you can be saved?”

She refused to answer, wouldn’t even look at him.

“You’re a monster, Clarissa, just like me,” he snarled. “But even worse, you’re a treacherous traitorous bitch.”

Clary’s head whipped sidelong to face him, her lips drawing back over her teeth.

Jonathon chuckled. “See?”

She turned away, her throat burning. “Go away,” she said to him. “I won’t help you. Or father. I won’t help any of you.”

He smirked. “Well, you don’t have a choice.”

Then, the call came.

… 

Though Jace had seen the city countless times, it looked nothing like he remembered now. People were running and screaming. Demons followed in their wake, torn down by werewolves or the flash of pale skin that could be a nymph or a vampire. 

Alicante was home to many Shadowhunters, but very few of them were out on the streets now. Countless were probably dead, killed by the explosion that rocked the city. A few small groups were gathered on street corners. A few were led by adults, but most were led by teenagers or Shadowhunters in their twenties. They probably hadn’t been home at the time of the explosion and that’s why they had survived. A girl with short brown hair, not dressed for battle but fighting anyway, spotted Jace’s group and gave a shout. 

Immediately, the small cluster of fighters that she led backed themselves into a kill circle and began moving towards them. They slashed demons left and right with the expertise of being led by someone with a plan. The girl closed in around Jace, Alec, Isabelle, and Magnus. 

“I saw you arrive on Brocelind Plain. You knew this would happen. Who are you?” she asked. “What’s going on?”

“Valentine Morgenstern,” Alec said.

The girl glanced over her shoulder at the demons surging through Alicante’s streets. “Can we fight them all?”

“We’re going to try,” Isabelle said. Then, she removed a spare dagger from her boot and handed it to the girl. “If you see Downworlders, fight with them. They’re on our side.”

The girl nodded, shouted that to her group of fighters, and they moved off with purpose. Jace watched them for as long as he was able, watched as the girl led them through the streets. She kept gathering singular Shadowhunters and even civilians, drawing them within the shelter of the kill circle they had created. Soon, she would have an army on her hands and under her control.

Then, Magnus led them around a corner and Jace had no more time to think about her. 

Demons filled the alley, so closely packed that it seemed almost comical. It was a wall of blood-red eyes and stink of ashes and sulfur. With a shout of alarm, Isabelle’s whip lashed overhead like a misplaced bolt of lightning. Magnus’s fire seared after it and several demons exploded into puffs of ash and ichor. Jace and Alec leaped into motion, jumping into the fray and counting on Isabelle to defend their backs with her whip. A demon’s teeth locked onto Jace’s forearm, but he stabbed his blade between its eyes and ripped away.

Alec shouted and Jace whirled, ripping a monster from his parabatai’s back and hurling it away. Isabelle’s whip followed, snapping loudly in the air. Magnus cried out the name of a spell that lit up the night and he lashed aside a massive demon that was leaping for his face. Jace whirled aside, his blade biting through countless demons. He was so angry that he didn’t even feel the pain of the bite on his arm. He didn’t feel anything except rage and energy. 

Tonight.

It would end tonight.

He would kill Valentine Morgenstern.

He would avenge his parents and himself and Clary.

It was more than a challenge, but they fought their way through the alley of demons regardless. Jace led them through, his hair like gold fire illuminated by Isabelle’s silvery whip and Magnus’s bluish magic. On the other side of the alley was the Gard, the center of Alicante, the center of the Clave, the fortress. But instead of such a stronghold, the next street was instead a mess of burning rubble that fanned out from the center like a macabre flower.

This was the center of the explosion. 

This would be where Valentine Morgenstern was. 

“We’re here,” Magnus said, voicing what they all already guessed.

…

Clary heard her father’s voice in her head. It was like a spear, like a bullet, like a searing brand. She screamed, the sound tearing out of her like a gaping wound. She saw the flash of her brother’s sick smile before the entire world went dark and colorless.

Her muscles strained against Magnus’s bonds even as she tried to force herself not to fight. She had to stay here, where she was at a safe distance from her friends, so that she couldn’t hurt them. She tried not to fight, tried not to struggle, but the demon tore from within her.

She screamed again, her voice echoing the sound of her father’s call. The veins in her arms stood out, black and straining, coiling against her white skin like vines. She felt the angelic rune in her palm sear, burning in her attempt to hold back the demon.

Jonathon’s smug face flashed before her in a kaleidoscope of blurred images. She saw the demon in him as well, just as she saw it in herself. Then, she squeezed her eyes shut and focused on the darkness. The runes burned in her forehead. The block strained, but she could feel bricks of it pulling free.

The call to arms rocked through her again, searing through her blood and body. She felt it in her very core, in her heart and soul. The magical bonds groaned, the cross pressed against her back, and she felt them begin to break through her skin. Another scream tore from her lungs.

The cross cracked against her back, shattered like glass, and Clary’s feet were abruptly slammed to the floor. She doubled over, the bonds barely holding her to the cross anymore. “No,” she whispered out and leaned back hard against the ruined cross. She tried to fight the demon back, but it raged against her body.

The call came again, her body surged with it, and Clary’s wrists snapped free of the magical bonds. With a soft puff, the magic imploded and vanished. Clary fell to her hands and knees, her entire body trembling and shivering. Her stomach heaved and she was nearly sick, retching violently.

She heard Jonathon chuckle. The call came one final time like the last bullet in a gun. She rose to her feet like a puppet on a string, her shoulders shuddering, but when Jonathon offered her a blade, her hands reached out like a separate entity to take it from him.

…

Valentine was standing before the ruined steps of what had once been the Gard. The beautiful doors lay in splinters all around and Jace knew immediately that anyone who had been inside was dead. This had been the center of the explosion. A few demons skulked around Valentine’s feet, just a few, nothing of the army he had brought to ravage the city or what they had been through to get here. Jonathon wasn’t with him like Jace had expected. 

How had Valentine even gotten this close to the Gard? How had he gotten in? How could this be happening?

Jace drew his blade and Alec pressed in at his side. His body was warm and hard, strong and half that strength was Jace’s. They were parabatai, two halves of one whole, twin fighters and best friends. Jace looked over and met Alec’s blue eyes receiving a nod of agreement. Isabelle stepped in beside them, but she didn’t move forward. She curled her whip lightly, twisting it around her fingers like most girls would twist their braided hair.

“I’ll stay here with Magnus,” she said softly. “If you need it, we’ll reinforce you.”

Jace gave her a small nod.

Alec’s shoulder nudged his in silent signal. 

Then, the two of them leaped from the shadows of the ruined alleyway with all the bodies of the demons behind them. Jace’s rage gave him power and he felt as if he had jumped several stories, as if he was flying, and he left Alec behind. He thought he might have been screaming, but he wasn’t sure. That sound seemed to come from everywhere at once. Valentine whirled to face him and his expression was shocked before it concealed itself into a mask of disdain and annoyance. 

“I really should have killed you when I had the chance,” he said.

Jace landed a few feet from Valentine. “I've already agreed with you on that,” Jace snarled. He lunged at Valentine his blade shining as if the spirit of his father was flown into it. He slashed viciously, forcing Valentine back through the ruin of the Gard.

Jace saw a cage covered in black silk, the wind teasing the edge of it so that he saw the angel inside. Amaranth reached through the bars, gripped the sheaf of fabric, and yanked it down. She pressed her face to the bars, blind eyes hidden beneath her silken fold. Her thin fluttering hands pressed out past the bars, searching, seeking.

“Jace!” Amaranth screamed, but whatever she was going to say next was cut off by Valentine landing a solid blow that left Jace’s ears ringing. 

Jace staggered backwards until his back hit the ruin of what was once a wall. He used it for leverage, pushing off and hurling himself at valentine once more. The blade in his hand was an answered prayer, part of him, part of what he had lived for. 

He felt Alec’s strength as his parabatai fought the nearby demons. Isabelle’s whip cracked overhead, snaring a demon seconds before it latched onto Jace. He didn’t have to thank her and leaped at Valentine again. The seraph blade sank into flesh, hot blood splattering on Jace’s face, and he hurled himself backwards to witness Valentine’s death. 

“Jace!” Magnus shouted and there was a flare of blue magic.

The warning came a split second too late. Jonathon’s fist slammed into the side of Jace’s head with the force of a hammer. Jace went down, his body sliding through all the rubble and ruin, his blade clattering from his hand. He looked up sharply, vision reeling from the blow and the foreign blood in his eyes.

Clary stood over him, blood dripping from her clenched fingers. Jace’s blade had sunk into her hand—her hand that had saved Valentine from the death blow. Her eyes were distant and empty, just as they had been when the demon had taken her the first time.

“No,” Jace breathed.

“Jace!” Amaranth screamed and he finally heard her through the ringing in his ears. “Jace, get away! Get away!”

Clary reached out her hand and the rune shone like a singular star. It slammed into Jace’s chest as hard as an oncoming train. For a moment, there was nothing but pain and darkness. His heart tore open, shattered and split. Then, Jace landed hard and there was only more pain.

X X X

Questions, comments, concerns?

Review!


	41. In Between

Okay, I’m starting to enjoy this again. I had way too much fun writing this chapter.

X X X

Through the world of pain that had overwhelmed him, Jace felt someone’s hands scoop beneath his shoulders, dragging him backwards—away from Clary, away from Valentine, away from the danger. He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t see, couldn’t feel anything beyond the agonizing pain. 

“Jace, Jace,” someone was saying, their voice swimming in and out. “Jace!”

“Bring him to me,” Magnus said. “Let me see.”

“What did she do to him?” came Isabelle’s voice.

“Her hand. She used her hand,” Alec said. “I saw it.”

“Can you help him?” Isabelle asked.

Magnus didn’t answer.

Then, Jace’s consciousness swam out into a black void. His heart stopped.

…

“Leave him here with me,” Magnus said, taking off his glittering coat and draping it over Jace’s fallen form. “I can protect him, but the only thing that can help him now is an angel. Amaranth should be able to reverse whatever was done to him.”

“Amaranth?” Alec repeated. He had seen Valentine’s cage, had seen her inside it, had heard her cry out Jace’s name only a moment before it happened. She had somehow known what was going to happen, even behind the veil that covered her eyes. “What can she do?”

“She’s an angel,” Isabelle put in with more conviction and hope than Alec had heard in a long time. “She’ll be able to do something.”

“Alright,” he said. “We’ll get her. You stay here with Jace.”

Magnus inclined his head, his fingers leaping sparks of bluish light. “Count on it.”

Then, Isabelle and Alec stepped from the makeshift shelter that Magnus had created with his magic. Though Alec had half-expected Clary and Jonathon to be waiting outside, they weren’t. They were standing with their father on the demolished steps of the Gard. Behind them, Amaranth sat in her cage, her arms stretched out like white doves escaping into the sky. Isabelle turned to her brother without speaking and merely met his eyes. He smiled at her, his gaze soft, and gave her shoulder a soft squeeze. That was all they needed.

Isabelle unfurled her whip and landed the first blow, snaring Jonathon around the elbow and ripping him down from his high horse. He crashed down the stairs in a mess of elbows and knees and jumped back to his feet with a snarl. His lips pulled back over his teeth and they were sharp like a demon’s. He pulled a glittering black-bladed dagger from his waist and leaped at her, shrieking like a monster. Isabelle fell back, leading him away from her brother and the angel.

Alec hurled a short dagger at Clary’s leg and it sank in just behind her knee, certainly severing the ligaments and tendons there yet she barely flinched. For a moment, Alec caught his breath. If Clary decided to attack him, it didn’t look like he would stand a snowball’s chance in hell. Valentine turned sharply to face Alec and he looked annoyed. 

“Clarissa,” Valentine said.

She didn’t turn. She didn’t even move.

A breath of relief escaped Alec’s lips. Even though Clary had taken down Jace in one hit with her angelic hand, she didn’t look inclined to fight Alec right now. For that, he was grateful. She turned her head slight and looked down at the hilt of the dagger sticking out from her knee as if she had never seen it before.

With a curse, Valentine turned away from his daughter, drew his sword, and came down towards Alec. Alec backed away, glanced over his shoulder to see how Isabelle was fairing, and then turned his attention back to Valentine just in time to dodge a downward swipe that would have taken off his head. He cursed, slashed at Valentine’s side, and dropped into a somersault that brought him up at Valentine’s back. He stabbed his blade into the back of Valentine’s shoulder.

Howling in rage, Valentine swiped at Alec and the sword crashed down inches from him. Alec tried to slip back, but the sword caught him under the arm and cleaved a vicious slice across his entire chest. Isabelle shouted his name, but Alec was already vaulting backwards and out of Valentine’s range. Searing pain went through him as he moved, blood running unchecked down his torso. Then, suddenly, he felt the bars of Amaranth’s cage against his back. 

Valentine’s sword cracked across the bars and Alec ducked under it, diving around to grab the latch. It was a simple lock, but he supposed it would be complicated for someone who couldn’t see. Quickly, he unfastened it and swung the door open on squealing hinges. Valentine swore, slashing down at Alec’s hands, and tried to slam the door closed again. But Amaranth was already moving. She swung her bare feet down to the destroyed ground and staggered from the cage with both hands outstretched.

Alec slashed sidelong at Valentine, his blow close enough that he stumbled backwards to avoid being split in two. Alec wrapped one arm around Amaranth, pulling her close to his side so that her hand pressed to the wound on his chest. He let out a little cry of pain. She gasped and a light seemed to flow out of her fingers that melted away all the pain. Imbued with new power, Alec lashed out at Valentine and forced him back. Then, he pressed the angel close and ran.

Magnus’s magic shield protected them from Valentine. Isabelle barreled in a moment later, panting with blood smeared on one side of her face, and dropped to her knees at Jace’s side. She tucked back some loose dark hair and Alec saw that her eye was beginning to swell shut. Valentine and Jonathon attacked the shield fiercely, but it would not give. Alec helped Amaranth kneel beside his sister and Magnus leaned in behind them. Quickly, Magnus explained what had happened to Jace to Amaranth.

“Can you help him?” the warlock asked.

The angel nodded, “Of course,” and she stretched out her hand. 

…

Jace was moving through a void that was neither dark nor light. All around him, things seemed to be moving but he couldn’t be certain. Each time he turned his head to look directly, everything went stiller than glass. He walked forward blindly through the undulating abyss. He could see himself, his hand in front of his face, but not much else.

“Hello?” he called out.

There was no answer, so he kept moving. He figured that so long as he was walking, he was at least doing something and that was better than doing nothing. His footsteps were silent though and, for a moment, he wondered if he was really moving at all. Then, the abyss rippled with faint color, but when he turned his head to look, it was simply black again.

“Isabelle? Alec?” he called. “Magnus?”

His voice didn’t return to him. It was swallowed up by this strange place, absorbed greedily. He turned to the right and walked in that direction for a while, but it was impossible to tell if he was actually getting anywhere. The strange void continued its strange sort of hidden movement. 

“Clary?” he ventured.

Jace looked around, looked behind himself and then forward again. Nothing looked familiar and nothing looked out-of-place either. What was this place? Jace started walking again, trying to remember what had happened. How had he ended up here anyway? But nothing came to him. His mind was just as blank as this strange place.

“Jace,” came a woman’s voice. “Oh, Jace…”

Even though Jace didn’t recognize the voice, he still found his mouth saying, “Mom?”

There was the sound of faint laughter. Then, all at once, in a surge that made Jace nauseous, the strange void swirled forward. It shaped itself into a sort of carnival funhouse tunnel that twisted in a sickening array of darkness and colors, but at least now it had a clear ending. 

Jace hurried towards it before it changed again. “Who are you?” he called.

There was no answer and the tunnel stretched on and on. He walked, trying not to look directly at the swirl of colors that surrounded him. Jace was beginning to think the tunnel would never end when it came to an abrupt point and he found himself smashing headlong into an invisible wall with a shout of surprise. He pressed his hands to it and tried to peer through the barrier.

“Hello? Is anyone there?” he called.

“Of course,” came the answering female voice. 

Then, as abruptly as the wild tunnel had ended, it began again. The invisible wall that Jace had been pressing on so desperately was suddenly gone and he found himself spilling through the void of colors and darkness. He landed in a heap amidst tall swaying grass, wildflowers, and a sweet summer breeze. Quickly, he sat up and looked around.

“Is this… Heaven?” he asked.

The woman laughed again and the sound was like tinkling bells.

Jace turned his head to the side, peering through the grass and flowers, and met her eyes. For a moment, he didn’t recognize her because she certainly looked nothing like the pictures Hodge had showed him of her. Besides, she looked different without Valentine Morgenstern at her side.

She was wearing a black lace dress that Jace wouldn’t have expected to see on this side of the afterlife. The knee-length skirt and loose lace sleeves billowed in the summer breeze, baring her sleek arms and legs decorated with inky runes and pale scars. All in all, it made her skin look like lace as well. Her face was familiar, older, perhaps still beautiful if he had been into older women. Her ruby-red hair hung in waves and ringlets around her shoulders and trailing down her back. Her eyes were a shade of green that belonged on a necklace and fringed with long lashes. In simple contrast, she wore a woven chain of daisies around her forehead and neck. She smiled at him and her smile was undeniably stunning even if she was Valentine’s wife.

“Jocelyn Fairchild?” Jace whispered. He got to his feet and came towards her, but the distance wouldn’t close. No matter how many steps he took, she remained the same distance from him. “What are you doing here? Where are we?”

She turned her head slightly, but it was more like a gesture so Jace looked that way. Clary was so much younger here, so innocent and even smaller and thinner than she was now. She was seated among the tall grass, twisting daisies into crowns and necklaces. 

“Clary!” Jace called out.

She didn’t respond to his voice and no amount of steps he took brought him any closer to her, just as it had with Jocelyn. He turned back to her. 

“What is this place?” he demanded.

Jocelyn gazed at him for a moment and then looked up at the sky.

Despite himself, Jace found himself looking up as well. Despite how well-lit and sunny this place appeared, the sky was the same dark void of swirling colors and ink that Jace had walked through what felt like an eternity ago. The image made him ill and he swayed on his feet, clutching at a tall stalk of daisies to keep himself on his feet.

“What is this?” he whispered.

“The space between,” Jocelyn said.

“Between what?”

She didn’t answer.

“Am I dead?” he asked.

“Not yet,” she said. 

“Are you?”

She merely smiled, her green eyes like emeralds, like Clary’s—deep and kind.

“Why am I here?” Jace asked her.

Jocelyn studied him a moment. “Don’t you know?” she asked.

He shook his head.

She turned towards her daughter. “Because of her,” she said. “Because of Clary.”

“Clary?”

“She struck you with her hand,” Jocelyn said. “Just like me.”

Jace’s eyes widened, his breath catching in his chest. “What?”

For the first time, Jocelyn’s smooth expression shattered. She looked sad, but beyond even sadness. She looked broken. “I suppose no one knows what happened to me, do they?” she asked Jace.

“Luke said you got a lead on where Clary was, went to investigate, and were never heard from again,” Jace told her and winced.

Jocelyn didn’t look bothered by that. “Ah,” she said softly. “Well, I did and I found her. She was with her father, with Valentine, and he had filled her veins with demon blood. I tried to reach her beyond the sound of his voice, beyond the call of rage and hatred, but her soul had gone beyond Hell. I couldn’t reach her… and I couldn’t fight my daughter.”

“But she has angel blood in her now,” Jace protested, “in her hand.”

Jocelyn nodded and then shook her head. “It doesn’t matter. The demon blood is older, powerful, and much stronger,” she said. “Clary has no hope to fight it off. I should have killed her then, should have spared everyone from all of this, but I… I couldn’t.”

“No!” Jace protested. 

Jocelyn smiled at him faintly. “You’re a good person, Jace Herondale. Your mother and father would be proud.”

“Are they here too?” Jace asked.

She shook her head. “It’s just me… and my memories.”

“This is a memory?”

“Yes. One of my favorites. This is the day before Valentine stole Clary from me and cursed her with demon blood. This was the last day she was really my daughter.”

“You don’t really believe that, do you?” Jace asked her.

“Do you think she can be saved, Jace?” Jocelyn’s voice was low and sad. “Do you?”

“Yes.” Jace nodded and was surprised to find just how much he believed his own words.

Jocelyn’s eyes brimmed with tears. “Then maybe… this is how it is meant to be…”

“What do you mean?” Jace asked.

She tucked some hair behind her ear. “If you believe, please, try to save Clary,” she whispered. “But if you should be unable to do so, please, kill her.”

Jace opened his mouth to protest, but Jocelyn lifted a pale hand to quiet him.

“When she regains herself, if she were to ever learn what she did under the influence of the demon, she would break. Please, never tell her what happened to me. Never tell her…” Jocelyn sniffled and wiped delicately at her eyes. “Please, Jace, if you can, save her. If you can’t… kill her.” 

Jace wanted to speak, but Jocelyn took a step forward that closed the space between them instantly in a way that seemed impossible. She reached out, her soft hands cupping his face lightly. She smelled of wildflowers and blood and beneath that something sickly-sweet. She reached within her body, her hand fitting perfectly into the center of a lace rose on her dress, and she withdrew a shining blade with a hilt that looked like it was made of bone.

“I hope you are stronger than I was,” Jocelyn said. Then, she pressed a light kiss to Jace’s forehead.

Overhead, the strange black-and-colored sky suddenly split open like a stained-glass window shattering. A pale hand reached into the void, into the meadow, into this very world. Jocelyn’s memory scattered like the petals of a flower, vanishing into nothingness. Then, the pale fingers closed around Jace like a cage and drew him out. For a moment, the light was blinding. 

…

Amaranth’s pale hand was stretched out over Jace’s chest. Her fingers dipped in, seeming to pass through flesh and bone, and she let out a soft breath. For a moment, nothing seemed to happen. Then, Jace surged up from the ground, gasping for breath like a drowning man, and Magnus’s coat dropped into his lap. Lying across his thighs was a bone-handled dagger, the blade gleaming and marked with strange runes. 

“What happened?” Jace demanded of his friends in his next breath.

Though Alec and Isabelle wanted nothing more than to throw their arms around their friend and embrace him, Valentine and Jonathon were still beating on Magnus’s shield. This was not the time. Instead, they each clasped one of his hands as Alec told him everything that had happened since Clary had struck him down with her hand.

“What is this?” Magnus asked, gesturing to the bone dagger into Jace’s lap.

“Jocelyn Fairchild gave it to me,” Jace said.

Magnus just stared at him.

“Why?” Alec asked.

“She said that if I couldn’t save Clary, I should kill her,” Jace said.

“Will you?” Isabelle put in, her eyes bright with worry.

Jace studied the dagger. The edge looked bloody in the strange light of Magnus’s shield, but that was all. “I don’t know,” he said. “I’ll have to see if I can save her.”

Alec jerked his head in a quick nod.

Jace turned to Amaranth and reached out to take her hand. “Thank you,” he said, “for whatever you did. Now, stay here with Magnus where you’ll be safe. I’m going to finish this.”

She nodded silently and squeezed her hand over his. Jace felt her strength flow into him, brushing away all the lingering pain of demon bites and feeling of Clary’s hand cracking into his chest. She smiled at him and then let go with the ease of someone releasing a baby bird into the sky for the first time.

Jace rose to his feet, holding the bone-handled dagger in his hand tightly. “I’ll take Clary,” he said and turned to Isabelle and Alec. “You two take on Valentine and Jonathon.”

The siblings nodded.

“One more thing,” Jace said. “Go for the kill.”

Alec’s mouth opened, but no sound came out.

“But Jace,” Isabelle protested. “Killing Valentine has always been your—”

“It doesn’t matter anymore,” Jace said to them. “Just go for the kill.”

X X X

Questions, comments, concerns?

Review!


	42. The Bone-Handled Dagger

Today kind of got away from me! Happy Valentine’s Day, everyone!

You know, every time I write about near-death experiences, it’s very different each time. The last one I wrote I think was all twisted images like a room of taxidermied animals and the guide was a midget. And this one is a void of colors, blackness, and memories. I wonder what part of my brain is in charge of coming up with these things…

X X X

Isabelle and Alec went through the shield first, pushing back Jonathon and Valentine like a tide of powerful water. Clary was standing behind her brother and father, her face blank and her eyes like black pits. She had pulled Alec’s dagger from her knee and was holding it, still dripping her blood. She was clearly ready to fight now and it looked as if any shred of Clary’s consciousness that remained was gone. When Jace stepped from the shield, her lips pulled back over her sharp teeth. Then, she was on him.

Jace wrest her off, hurling her back with strength he hadn’t realized he possessed. “Clary!” he shouted. “Stop it! I know this isn’t you! Now fight it! Fight back!”

She rose back to her feet like a marionette, her mouth opened wide in a demon-like hiss. She leaped at him again, her blade slashing inches from his face as he spun himself backwards from her. She dove forward again and Jace caught her blade under his elbow. He tried to wrench it from her grip, but she was bringing her hand towards him with the rune shining brightly. He quickly whirled away, knocking her back with a blow that was more savage than he intended. She crashed down in a heap of rubble, her skin splitting and bleeding.

“Clary! Fight it off!” Jace shouted. “Fight the demon! I know you can!”

Then, he lifted the bone-handled dagger than he had gotten from her mother. He didn’t know what he had been expecting the dagger to do. Had he expected it to be a beacon that would ward off the demon blood? Had he really thought that it would magically give her the strength to fight off the inner monster? Well, whatever he had expected, the blade did none of those things. Clary leaped at him unperturbed and sank her teeth into his shoulder.

Jace swore and tried to rip her off. “Clary! Stop! It’s me!” he shouted.

The taste of his blood seemed to do something. With tearing effort, Clary staggered back from him and lifted a trembling hand to her mouth to wipe away the taste of his flesh. “Jace?” she whispered. The angelic runes burned on her forehead, standing out like scars. She pressed a hand to her head, crumpled, and then leaped at Jace with more rage than before. She was howling, screaming, and it was the most bone-chilling sound Jace had ever heard.

He fell back. “Clary!”

She came down on top of him hard and a sharp point of ruined wood stabbed into his back. He cried out, got his knee into her stomach, heaved her off, and threw her backwards over his head. She screamed as she crashed into a mass of cinders and stone. She remained there, crumpled, weeping softly. 

“Clary!” Jace shouted and ran to her side. 

The moment he reached her, she lunged to her feet and leaped at him snarling wildly. She slashed at his throat, but missed by mere inches. Jace hurled himself backwards, got a footing on a scrap of overturned building, and leaped as high into the sky as he could manage. Clary was small below him, so small, but then she was following after him and her jump was far stronger than his. She slammed into him like a guided missile, shrieking. 

Jace tried to kick her off, but her hand was coming for his throat and he knew she would kill him. Desperately, he slashed at her with the bone-handled knife that he had gotten from her mother and opened a canyon of blood across her collarbones. The blood that welled from the wound was bright-red and so human. Her cry of pain sounded so human too, but then Jace saw the demon in her eyes and kicked her away with a crash. 

He landed in a crouch, panting, and looked at the blade in his hand. It wasn’t special, he realized. It was just a knife. Jocelyn didn’t expect that he’d be able to save her daughter, he realized with a jolt. In fact, she fully expected Jace to kill Clary. That was why she had given him the blade.

…

Isabelle circled her whip in a shining silver cage to protect her from the volley of lightning-fast strikes that Jonathon rained down on her. He was a mess, snarling and screaming, hissing and shrieking. As each moment passed, he looked less and less human. She wondered if he’d become a demon completely in just a matter of moments. 

Her whip landed solidly across his face and then snared around his throat. She jerked him forward, tightening the noose. Demon or not, everything needed oxygen. She wondered what he would do now. Would he try to convince her not to kill him, that he was innocent, and land a sneaky blow to her face as he had before?

Jonathon lay against the rubble-strewn ground, writhing and shrieking. Isabelle put her booted foot down on his chest and she hoped the sharp point of her stiletto-heel was hurting him. He dug at her boot, his sharp nails scrabbled for purchase on the tough leather to no avail.

“Who has the upper hand now, you bastard?” Isabelle snapped.

He gurgled out something that might have been insulting, but Isabelle couldn’t tell. 

She glanced over her shoulder to see how her brother was fairing against Valentine and to see if Jace was making any progress fighting off Clary’s demon side. From her perspective, it didn’t look like either of them was making particular headway. Though Isabelle couldn’t be certain about Jace, she knew Alec was merely playing for time. 

…

Alec was holding his own against Valentine. He was trying to give Jace time to get Clary back on the right team and also give his best friend a chance to take his revenge on the man who had killed his parents. He wasn’t sure Jace would ever get over his parents’ brutal murders if he wasn’t able to deliver the killing blow to Valentine himself.

He knew what Jace had said and became aware of Isabelle’s eyes on him, but didn’t dare stab into Valentine’s exposed back. Valentine had realized a little while ago what Alec was doing and his rage had doubled. In his rage, he was even sloppier and it was becoming even harder for Alec to resist killing him. 

“Aren’t you going to give it your all, boy?” Valentine snarled. “Once I get rid of you, I’ll let my demons have their way with your pretty friend.” 

Though Alec wasn’t certain whether Valentine was talking about Isabelle or Jace, he still slashed the man across the face to let him know that he meant business. Valentine reeled back, his hand pressed to the bleeding gash that bisected his face. 

“Are you giving it your all, Valentine?” Alec asked in the same witty way that Jace would. “Because if you are, this is too easy and I’m not sure your reputation was all that deserved.”

Valentine snarled in rage and dove at Alec with single-minded rage. His sword sailed harmlessly past Alec’s head and Alec nearly laughed when he heard Isabelle scream behind him. He whirled and Valentine’s next strike bit into his shoulder. Blindly, Alec slashed behind himself and he felt his blade sink into flesh. 

Valentine cried out, screamed in rage and agony, but Alec barely heard it.

“No!” he screamed and lunged towards Isabelle. 

Valentine’s sword was embedded in her back and though he could tell she was still holding onto her whip with all her might, Jonathon was beginning to fight free of the hold. Alec reached her an instant before Jonathon ripped free and slashed at her with his claws. Alec caught her in his arms and leaped as high as any bird.

“Alec,” Isabelle whispered. “Sorry…”

Rage swelled in Alec’s chest like fire. He plucked a single knife from his belt and hurled it at Jonathon. The blade sank in between his eyes and the abyss in his eyes faded like lights were being turned on somewhere in his skull. For a moment, Jonathon looked painfully human, but then, he was gone.

…

Jace heard Isabelle scream, followed a moment later by Alec’s cry of horror, and he forgot all about Clary. Isabelle and Alec were his only family, his most precious people. Oh god! By the Angel, please don’t—! He spun around, opening his back to Clary, just to see what had happened.

Everything was a blur of half-realized images.

Isabelle was standing over Jonathon with her whip in hand, victorious. Then, Valentine’s sword was in her back and she was screaming. Alec shouted and Valentine slashed at him in his moment of weakness. But Alec struck out blindly and then Valentine was the one screaming. Jace saw his greatest foe go down, but couldn’t find it in him to care. Jonathon was wrenching free of Isabelle’s whip. In a moment, he would be on her—he would kill her!

“No!” Jace screamed and lunged towards Isabelle. His heart felt like glass, transparent and half-broken, reflecting all the facets of this one moment.

Clary came down from nowhere between them in a wall of rubble that rose up when she landed. He could see the difference in her eyes, the difference that Valentine’s death had made, but it wasn’t enough. The demon had taken over. Her face was a mask of snarling teeth and black eyes. Her hair was a halo of blood and she reached out with her hand shining with power. Jace tried to race past her, but she grabbed him by his shirt and threw him back. The world sailed by in a blur, but Jace kept his eyes on Isabelle, on Jonathon, waiting for the spray of blood he was certain would come at any moment.

He had failed Isabelle.

Then, like a bolt of light, Jace saw Alec snare Isabelle in his arms and leap high into safety. 

But he didn’t have a chance to savor his relief. A moment later, his head cracked into a ruined wall. Shrapnel cut into his back and arms with the force of the collision. He crumpled to his knees, the bone-handled dagger clattering from his grasp, as his vision exploded with lights and stars. 

Then, Clary was in front of him. She grasped him by the front of his shirt and lifted him to be level with her. It was all he could do to grab the bone-handled dagger from the ground. Her eyes were black abysses and her lips pulled back over sharp fangs. She was so gone, so far gone, but still… Jace had to try.

“Clary,” he whispered. “Clary, it’s me.”

She lifted Alec’s dagger into his line of sight. It still shone with her blood and the back of her leg was a mess of torn flesh that should have slowed her down, but had done nothing. She really was just too strong. She was too much a demon.

“Clary,” Jace whispered.

She snarled even as a single tear leaked down her cheek. She was in there, Jace knew, but she couldn’t pull herself back and nothing he was doing would help her. She was watching the demon in her play out. Helpless, she was going to watch her own hands butcher him.

Did she already know that she had killed her own mother?

Jace couldn’t think like that. Instead, he lifted his own knife to strike her down. Memories assailed him—the taste of her kiss, the feel of her body, the heat and sorrow of her—and he hesitated. He whispered her name with all that he felt, hoping against hope that it would work this time—this time!

With a shriek that was half-demon and half-agonizingly-human, the point of Clary’s stolen knife sank into the place where Valentine had once slit Jace’s throat. The healing rune seemed to blaze with old power—filled with his mother’s love and Magnus’s worry—but it did nothing to heal him now. Blood welled beneath the sharp point, running hot down his throat and soaking his collar. 

He whispered her name, but it was mostly a gurgle of blood. He saw the horror in her eyes.

“Jace!” Alec screamed.

Jace closed his eyes, welcomed the darkness, and brought the bone-handled dagger down into Clary’s body.

X X X

Questions, comments, concerns? 


	43. The Angel Inside the Demon

Phew, last chapter of the big fight!

X X X

All Clary felt was horror and desperation. She tried to stop herself, tried to stop the knife from going into Jace’s throat, but she couldn’t. The blade was like a shooting star plummeting to earth, unstoppable and damaging. She had no control over her own body, no matter how hard she tried to fight for it. Then, it was all over. When she saw him lift the blade in his own hand, all she felt was relief and gratitude, but she only wished that he had killed her sooner. If he had, he could have saved himself.

The bone-handled dagger was familiar as it sank into Clary’s chest. It was cold and deep like a grave being driven into her very soul. Then, darkness swam in, the tide sweeping over life and limbs. Clary fell. Just for a moment, she wondered if she would go to Heaven or Hell, but she already knew the answer to that. Girls who killed the boys they loved were not ushered to the gates of Heaven. They weren’t even put in the back of the line. They weren’t even looked at by the gatekeeper. 

So, when she saw fire, she was not surprised.

…

Magnus’s shield crumpled the moment he saw Clary stab Jace in the throat. For a moment, Magnus could barely believe it. He had hoped against hope that Jace could bring Clary back and that he would survive in the attempt. But, as an immortal warlock, he should have known how unlikely that was. Amaranth must have sensed it because she started screaming and crying. She pulled herself to her feet and began running, tripping blindly over every piece of the broken city with both hands outstretched.

Alec was already at Jace’s side, his face chalk-pale. He cradled Isabelle in the crook of one arm and held Jace in the other. He was already crying, pressing helplessly at the gaping wound in Jace’s throat. Jace looked up at his parabatai and the marks on their forearms that bound them together began to ripple and fade.

“No,” Alec begged. “No.”

Magnus and Amaranth fell to their knees at nearly the same moment, both reaching out to press to Jace and Isabelle. Magnus was already crafting magic to try to save Jace’s life and the angel’s fingers were shining with the same light she had used earlier. Alec waited silently, hoping, praying.

Jace smiled thinly, his mouth full of blood. Then, he closed his eyes but his smile was still in place. His face twisted with pain and a wave of blood poured from his torn throat as he coughed weakly.

“No, no,” Alec pleaded. “Jace, no.”

Isabelle whimpered, the pain spearing through her.

Magnus pressed his hands over Amaranth’s as if the sheer pressure of their fingers could hold the life in Jace’s body—even if just for a moment longer. Jace was still smiling and the beat of his heart pushed out more and more blood. His own heart was killing him, but he always had been too kind. 

“Help him,” Alec begged them. 

“Come on,” Magnus said to his magic, to himself, but he was so drained. All the magic he had used to chain Clary and then to shield them had taken a lot out of him, but still… all he needed was just a little more, just a little more. 

Alec seemed to come back to himself then, sense overriding his panic and horror. He drew his Stele from his boot and quickly carved a healing rune deep into Jace’s bare shoulder. It shuddered, trying to work against all the damage. The edges of the horrible wound pulsed, drew in, but the blood was still flowing out faster than any rune could repair. 

Choking back tears, Alec turned and did the same to his sister. Isabelle cried out softly as he eased the sword from her back and watched the wound stitch itself back together. Soon, all that was left was a faint scar and a rip in her clothing. 

Now, if only Jace’s healing rune could do the same for him, if only it could save his life… But when Alec looked again, the rune had stopped working altogether. It faded and blood quickly obscured it as if to assure Alec just how futile it was.

“No,” he whispered and tried to draw in another rune.

Amaranth pushed their hands away. “Stop,” she said. Then, she leaned over Jace and pressed her forehead to his. She let out her breath slowly, filling his lungs, his body, his soul. Jace coughed, his blood painting her face, and his breath rattled in his broken throat. Tears slipped beneath Amaranth’s blindfold and fell on Jace’s cheeks. 

It was clear she couldn’t save him, no matter how she tried. Angels could only save someone’s life once and she already had. Maybe it had always been Jace’s destiny to die. Truly, he should have died years ago, murdered with the rest of his family when Valentine attacked the Herondale Manor. 

Isabelle pressed her hands to her face, tears rolling down her cheeks. Alec embraced her, pulling her close, and even though Magnus’s touch on his shoulder was comforting, Alec hardly felt it. All he felt was the gaping emptiness where his parabatai should have been. Isabelle sobbed, heartbroken, and Alec felt her pain too. It was enough to kill him, he thought. 

This was enough to kill him—to kill Isabelle, too.

“Jace,” Amaranth whispered.

…

For a moment, Clary thought maybe she was too horrible for even Hell to accept because even though she could see fire, she didn’t feel any pain. The fire was all around her, rippling and blood-red, but there wasn’t even a breath of pain. Then, there was the scent of flowers and death and it was too familiar to deny.

“Mom?” Clary whispered.

“Yes, sweetheart,” came Jocelyn’s voice.

“What is this?” she asked.

Jocelyn laughed softly. “You really are made for each other, aren’t you?”

“What?” Clary asked.

“Jace and you.”

Despite everything, Clary blushed, but cold reality sank back into her. “No, Mom,” she whispered, “I… I killed him.”

Jocelyn tucked her daughter’s head beneath her chin, flame-red hair curtaining around them in the light breeze. “I know. He thought he could save you,” she murmured. 

“He killed me,” Clary explained softly.

Jocelyn nodded. “I know.”

Clary hugged her mother tightly. “Do you forgive me, Mom?” she asked.

“Oh, yes, sweetheart, of course.”

Tears burned in Clary’s eyes and then slowly rolled down her face. She sobbed into her mother’s breasts, clinging to her tightly, her heart breaking into thousands of pieces that would always be too sharp to put back together. She whispered apologies and prayers, sobbing and crying.

Then, Jocelyn spoke.

“What?” Clary asked.

“Demons can’t cry, Clary,” Jocelyn repeated. Then, she smiled, leaned forward, and pressed her lips to her daughter’s forehead. “Now… go.”

The prairie of long grass and wild daisies opened up beneath Clary’s feet and she fell for what felt like an eternity. As she fell, she saw everything that she had ever experienced. She remembered making a crown of daisies for her mother, felt the press of her father’s needles beneath her skin. The burn of the demon’s blood was unforgettable and the angel’s blood was like sweet honey. She felt her first rape and all the ones after that, the demons inside her, the Shadowhunters inside her, everyone ripping her to pieces. 

Then, she felt Jace. She could smell the sweet scent of his skin and hair, the sunlight of his eyes and hair and skin. She remembered his tender kindness when he came to her cell with food and water. His easy smile, his voice, and his laugh returned to her. She tasted his kiss all over again, the butterfly touch of his gentle hands, the embrace of his strong arms. He was so kind, so sweet, so gentle. Did she love him? Could she ever love him? But demons didn’t love. They didn’t cry either. 

She melted into the memories of Jace as she fell.

…

Clary sucked in a desperate breath and opened her eyes. The first thing she saw was the hilt of the bone dagger sticking up from her chest like a macabre tombstone. She wrapped her fingers around it and pulled it free with a soft pained sound. Then, the power that she had once thought she had been cursed with began its work. Her body began to heal, returning to its original state, just as he father had intended—but she supposed he had never intended for it to be used like this. 

Not that it mattered anymore. She knew her father was dead. Valentine Morgenstern was dead. And if he was gone, so was her brother. By all rights, Clary should be too, but some kind of miracle burned in her skin. It burned in the angel blood that lived in her hand. It burned like a bright light to usher in the dead.

She sat up painfully from the rubble and saw Jace lying in the arms of his family a few feet away. All around them, the Glass City was ruined. She could hear the shrieks of demons, the howls of werewolves, and the terrible cries of vampires in the night. She rose to her feet shakily, her bones and skin aching as every inch of her was mended, even the injuries inside that should never be healed. She staggered forwards, pressing a hand over the wound in her chest. She felt her own heartbeat beneath the bones. 

…

The coup was surrounded by demons. For some reason, these demons were too smart. They were working together, not fighting amongst themselves as demons were often apt to do. Though Luke knew Valentine must have figured out some way to control them, he could hardly believe it was working so well. The demons were a perfect army—tireless, ruthless, and infinite. There wasn’t much hope that Luke’s small coup and the ragtag team of Shadowhunters that had come to fight would be able to stop them. 

Even so, Luke would not give up until he was the last man was standing. He had always promised Jocelyn that. Since he had been unable to keep many of his other promises to her, he would at least keep this one. He would go on until the end.

Luke held the last ring of defense against the demons, but even that was beginning to fail. He was backed against Maia and Jordan, his teeth bared in a last ditch effort to frighten them back. A few young Shadowhunters had joined his ranks, fighting alongside the Downworlders as if they had all their lives, but Luke supposed children were adaptable.

A few feet away, a group of adult Shadowhunters were fighting against the tide of demons as well. Simon had fallen in beside them, his fangs bared and his mouth streaked bloody. The monsters pushed closer, shrieking hungrily. Simon opened his mouth and let out a horrible vampire cry, but the demons were beyond that now. 

Luke was certain that this was going to be the end—that it was coming now as unstoppable as a falling star.

He hunched his shoulders, his mouth opening in a snarl as he snapped at a small demon that dared come close. He tried to stay in front of Maia and Jordan, in front of the other teenaged Shadowhunters. He was the adult. He would protect them to the best of his abilities with his last breath. They were so young. They had so much life left to live. 

His only thought was that he had brought them here. He had brought them to their deaths. He should have protected them—just like he should have protected Clary—and he had failed yet again. He sent his apology to Jocelyn and ducked his head, prepared to throw himself into the demons even if it would hold them back for mere seconds.

The demons shrieked and chattered, surging forward in waves like a tide of sulfur and ash. They were all teeth and claws and it seemed impossible to fight them all. One jumped onto Luke’s back, biting into him, and he howled in pain. A short-haired Shadowhunter tore the demon from him, threw it down, and stomped on it with her heavy boots.

It screamed as it died, but it only seemed to encourage the other demons.

Then, suddenly, a sort of tremor seemed to go through them. Some of the smarter ones looked back in the direction of the Gard, their red eyes wide with the demonic equivalent of shock. They began to chatter almost nervously. A few turned and ran, vanishing into the night or being picked off when their backs were turned.

Luke tried not to think about what was happening. He was merely grateful for it. Giving a confident battle cry, Luke lunged towards a larger demon with Maia at his flank. Together, they ripped it down until it exploded into a mess of blood and ash. 

Maia stepped back into formation, her fur smeared bloody. She glanced at Luke as if to ask what was going on.

Luke had no answer and fell in beside her, his claws raking the rubble.

Then, another sort of tremor went through the hordes. This time, they all noticed it. They began to chatter and squabble amongst themselves, fighting with each other as much as they fought the Downworlders and Shadowhunters. Whatever Valentine had created, it was falling apart. 

It took a moment for everyone to believe it, but once they did, they lunged into the mass of demons and began picking them off left and right. They were easy to kill without whatever had been leading them. Hell, half of them killed each other. Soon, most of the demons that had invaded the Glass City were either dead or fleeing into the night.

A happy cry of victory went up, echoing through the night.

It was well-deserved, Luke thought, looking over the ragtag group that filled the square. People began to pick each other up and dust themselves off. There was a lot of talking and introductions. Maia and Jordan shared a quick kiss, naked bodies pressing momentarily before each resumed their werewolf forms for decency. Luke nodded to them.

Then, a bright light surged on the horizon. It was a beam, going straight up into Heaven itself. It only lasted a moment. Then, it was gone.

…

When Clary’s fingers curled over Amaranth’s shoulder and pulled her back from Jace’s body gently, Magnus’s first thought was to blast her back with the last shred of his magic. How could she have survived Jace’s final blow? How could she still be alive? But when he looked into her face, he saw the humanity in her eyes and in the set of her mouth. Tears glittered in her eyes, rolled silently down her cheeks like crystals and dripped off her chin. 

Jace had saved her… somehow… at the cost of his own life.

Alec looked up at her. He looked like he wanted to speak, but couldn’t find the words. Isabelle’s face had been pressed into his chest, but she heard Magnus gasp and turned to look. When she saw Clary, safe and whole, she immediately looked at Jace as if some miracle had pulled him back from the dead as well. When she saw that Jace’s condition hadn’t changed, his blood welling between Amaranth’s fingers with no sign of stopping, she started crying anew.

Then, Clary was kneeling between the warlock and angel. She didn’t waste a moment and quickly pressed her mouth to Jace’s, absorbing the pain and the blood and the damage. The runes in her hand and forehead blazed with life until they were blinding. There was a sound like horns trumpeting, like people singing, like laughter and life.

Though the others looked away from the light and the angel dipped her head respectfully, Magnus refused. He watched until the end.

X X X

Questions, comments, concerns?

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	44. Aftershock at the Institute

Some things never change. Time for some aftershock!

For some reason, I had serious déjà vu while I was writing this chapter. I’m not really sure why though.

X X X

For a moment after Jace opened his eyes, he had a sudden feeling that everything had happened had all been a crazy dream. He was in his bed at the Institute, tucked in neatly like a child. His room was neat and orderly, clothes folded on the dresser and weapons lying out on his desk. Everything looked just as it always did. Butter-colored sunlight was streaming through his open curtains. The window was cracked open, letting in a soft breeze that smelled of New York and fried food. It was all too normal. 

Had he even met Valentine Morgenstern’s daughter? Had he really kissed her, fallen in love with her, given his life to try to save her? Had he really killed her? Had Hodge really betrayed them? Had he really met Greater Demons and been involved in a fight to save the world as he knew it? Had it all just been a dream? A nightmare? A comatose hallucination? It seemed like an impossible thing now.

With a groan, Jace sat up and looked around his room more thoroughly. Just as he had suspected, everything was painfully normal—too normal. Then, he saw Isabelle. She was slumped in a chair at his bedside, her arms resting on the edge of the mattress and her head pillowed comfortably. She was wearing a peach-colored kimono embroidered with indiscernible flowers and her inky hair was a silky curtain across her back. A mug of tea was sitting on Jace’s nightstand, half-empty. 

Smiling softly, Jace peeled the spare blanket from the foot of his bed and gently draped it around Isabelle’s shoulders. She stirred slightly, murmuring, and he saw the lingering fingers of a bruise on her face. So, he realized, it hadn’t been a dream after all. But that meant—

Alec opened the door just then. For a moment, he looked surprised to see that Jace was awake, but then he smiled and pressed a finger to his lips. Jace nodded and slowly pulled off the covers. He put his feet on the floor and eased himself out of bed. Everything hurt. It felt like he had been hit by a train. As if sensing that, Alec came to his side, let Jace sling his arm over his shoulders, and helped him from the room. They left Isabelle to sleep.

Once they were in the hall with the door closed, Jace asked, “What happened?”

Alec hugged him tightly and said, “You’ll never believe it.” 

Without saying more, Alec helped Jace into the elevator and they rode it downstairs in companionable silence. Jace pressed his hand over the mark that bound them as parabatai on his forearm, feeling the pulse of Alec’s life within it. His heart felt full to bursting with emotions. 

When the doors slid open, it was to total bedlam. The Institute’s kitchen, living room, and dining room had spilled together in a mess of chairs and couches. Magnus Bane was standing at the stove, making omelets with a lot of sparkling blue and red magic. Maia was standing to his left, chopping vegetables and frying eggrolls in a portable fryer. Luke had his head in the fridge, pulling out milk and juice and more eggs. Everywhere else, Downworlders and Shadowhunters milled in a harmony that seemed impossible. It also seemed impossible that everyone who had been involved in the last fight could fit inside the Institute. Jace knew it was big, but it didn’t seem this big.

“Whoa,” Jace said.

Alec laughed. “Yeah, I know, but we weren’t sure exactly where else to go. The Institute is pretty big and totally empty,” he explained.

“I think it’s cool,” Jace said with a grin. “I’ve always wanted a big family.”

Alec smiled at Jace, but no sadness touched them now. “I know.”

“Hey!” Magnus shouted, abruptly noticing them standing in the threshold. “Look who’s up!”

“Jace!” Luke said cheerfully. “What do you want for breakfast?”

Jace grinned. “Well, what are we having?”

“Everything,” said Maia. “Literally.”

Alec eased Jace down into an overstuffed armchair that certainly didn’t belong in the kitchen and he sank gratefully against the cushions. Luke handed him a mug of over-sweet coffee, but Jace drank it anyway. He smiled, watching everyone working together. Church was sitting on the kitchen table, watching everyone with his bright cat-eyes. He came over to Jace and meowed, begging attention and a scratch behind the ears. Jace was happy to oblige as he watched, smiling and sipping his coffee. 

“This is nice,” he remarked to no one in particular.

“Isn’t it?” came a sweet voice. 

Jace turned his head and smiled at Amaranth even though he knew she couldn’t see it. “Hey,” he said kindly and stretched out his hand for her to take. 

She picked her way around a few fairies, slipped her hand into his lightly, and sat down on the arm of his chair. She embraced him gently, pulling him into arms that smelled of flowers and light and Heaven. “I’m glad you’re alright, Jace,” Amaranth said sweetly. 

“Me too,” he said. Then, he asked, “What happened?”

A wave of silence washed through everyone who was nearest to Jace. Magnus dropped an omelet on the floor with a wet slap and Maia nearly chopped the tip of her finger. Both swore as Luke turned to put his hand on Jace’s shoulder.

“You don’t remember?” the older werewolf asked.

“Bits and pieces,” Jace said. “I remember… Clary. I remember killing her. After that… nothing…” He put his hand to his throat, feeling the mended skin curiously. There was a long scar at the base of his throat now, thin and cool to the touch. “Did I…?”

Amaranth nodded against the top of his head.

“What happened?” he asked again.

“Clary saved you,” Alec said because there didn’t seem to be any other way of saying it. “She saved you with the power in her hand, with the power of an angel.”

Jace pressed his hand over his throat, trying not to think about what that meant. “What?” he asked.

Magnus took the mug of coffee from Jace’s hand and set it aside. “I think you should just go talk to her.”

“She’s alive?” Jace breathed out.

Magnus nodded. “She’s in the greenhouse. Just go talk to her. Do you need help?”

Jace shook his head and heaved himself to unsteady feet. “I’ll be fine. If I’m not, I’ll call.”

Everyone watched him go in silence. Conversation was slow to return after that, like little plants growing back at the sight of a devastating fire. Jace tried not to think about what he’d find when he saw Clary again. Would she be the demon? The angel? Just the girl? Or was she even any of those things?

…

Jace leaned heavily on the door of the conservatory for a moment. Already, he could feel the humidity of the plant life and smell their sweet perfume. He could sense Clary’s presence inside—her blood poisoned with demonic influence and more angelic blood than a typical Shadowhunter, just as he had sensed the first night she arrived at the Institute. Then, he had thought the demonic feeling her had felt was merely because she was Valentine’s daughter. Letting his breath out slowly, Jace opened the door and stepped inside. He heard Clary gasp, but didn’t immediately see her. 

“Where are you?” he called. “I’m too tired to play hide and seek.”

Clary rose from behind a bush of hydrangeas with impossible blue and purple flowers. “W-what are you doing here? Didn’t Magnus tell you I was here?”

“Exactly,” Jace said. He waved her closer and sat down heavily on a stone bench, leaning back on his hands. “I came up to see you. Alec said you saved my life.”

Clary jerked her head and didn’t come closer. “But I…”

Jace pressed a hand to his throat. “Did that really happen? I can hardly remember.”

Clary nodded and tears welled in her eyes. “I’m so sorry, Jace,” she choked out.

He waved her closer and this time, she practically ran to him, tripping over the wild plants and tangling loose petals in her flame-red hair. She stopped a few feet away from him, hesitating. Her hands were stretched out, but she didn’t dare touch him. A quiet sob escaped her throat, more tears streaming down her cheeks.

“I’m so sorry,” she sobbed. “I’m so sorry.” 

Jace took her hand and pulled her in, crushing her against his chest and holding her tight. For a moment, she struggled and then fell into him. Her fingers tangled in his shirt, clinging to him like he was her last lifeline. He stroked her tangled hair, freeing petals and snarls. She smelled wonderful, like eggrolls and flowers and something that was completely her. Jace gently hooked his fingers beneath her chin and tilted her face up so he could look into her eyes. He saw nothing of the demon he had fought. He saw only Clary.

“Jace,” she whispered.

He kissed her.

And she melted into him. 

Her fingers tangled in his hair and he had no fear of her power. Her body was pressed against his, warm and soft, small and so strong. Her breasts swelled with each breath and he could feel her heart racing where they were pressed chest to chest. Her mouth opened like the petals of a flower, warm and sweet within. Jace delved in, his tongue tracing her teeth and calling for her to dance with him. She made a soft sound, pulling him closer and deeper.

“Oooh,” came Isabelle’s voice. She was leaning on the door, the shoulder of her peach-colored kimono slipping down carelessly. “It’s nice to see that you two made up.”

Jace pulled away from the kiss, pleased to see that Clary was flushed and panting. (Isabelle was practically his sister and though he would do a lot of things in front of her, making out with a girl was not one of them.) When Clary saw Isabelle, she buried her face into Jace’s chest and he could feel the heat of her blush burning through his shirt. 

“Come on, lovebirds,” Isabelle said. “Let’s eat.” Then, she turned away and went downstairs with the hem of her kimono dragging behind her.

Jace gave Clary another quick kiss and tugged her to her feet. He began to lead her after Isabelle, but she hesitated.

“What?” he asked.

“You want me to come with you?” she asked.

“Of course,” he said with a wide smile. “I love you.”

The words just slipped out of his mouth, but it was too late to take them back—not that he wanted to anyway. It just didn’t really seem like the right time for a confession. Clary gasped, shock showing on her face, and she looked so heartbreakingly surprised that Jace was suddenly glad he had spilled the words out just then. 

“But I… I killed you,” she protested.

“I did the same to you,” he told her shortly. “Now, come on. Nothing’s going to change.”

He took her hand, pulled her to his chest, and kissed her again. He wanted to deepen it, but he knew Isabelle would come back upstairs to get them if he didn’t move along so he kept it chaste. He leaned his forehead against Clary’s and tucked some of her hair behind her ear.

“Do you love me, Clary?” he asked.

“Can I?” she whispered.

He nodded.

Though she didn’t speak, he could taste her feelings when she kissed him again. He could also taste her worry, the words she wanted to speak just below the surface—the words of protest and pain that her father had pounded into her—but she didn’t say anything. She just kissed him and that was enough.

X X X

Those who know me well know what's coming in the final chapter. Those who don't are in for a surprise.

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Review!


	45. To Love Is...

Be sure to drop a REVIEW at the end and let me know WHAT you THINK! Tell me anything! Things you loved, things you hated! Things that were a disaster of epic proportions in the Mortal Instruments Universe! Tell me how much you hated it or how much you loved it! I don’t care, just tell me about it! The final chapter is the most important one for reviews!

X X X

Things changed swiftly after that. Needless to say, it was impossible for the Clave to ignore what Valentine Morgenstern had done. It was also impossible for them to ignore just how many Downworlders had come to save their asses. Jace heard that new Accords were being drawn up and Luke was even being welcomed onto the Council, but he wasn’t very interested in the politics of it and mostly ignored Alec when he was talking about it.

It was hard to explain what had really happened that night, anyway. According to Magnus, Jace hadn’t really been dead when Amaranth had pulled him back into the world of the living, but it had been really close. The second time, Jace had still been alive when Clary kissed him and the power in her hand—the angelic rune that healed everything—had been shared between them and that saved Jace’s life. At least, that was what had happened as far as Magnus could tell and no one was willing to argue with him.

Clary moved into the Institute with Jace, Alec, and Isabelle even though she was off at Luke’s station most of the time. Meanwhile, the coup against Valentine fell into a strange sort of limbo. Valentine was gone and so was Jonathon, but the worry was unspoken between everyone. There were still members of Valentine’s Circle out there—Isabelle and Alec’s parents, Hodge Starkweather, the raven Hugo. Plus, there were Lilith and Lamia to consider. Rumors had been spreading about the two Greater Demons, but it was nothing concrete yet. Even so, it seemed foolish to disband. 

So, everything stayed basically as it was. Little things changed, but they were a long time in coming. 

Though Magnus didn’t move out of his flat, he did give Alec a spare key to his house. Jace tried not to listen when Alec came home walking on air with hickeys on his pale throat, mingling with his dark runes and scars, but it was hard not to be happy for his parabatai. Alec had been torn by his sexuality for so long that it was nice to see him finally embrace his real feelings. 

Isabelle started hanging out with Maia. They went shopping together, buying cool vintage dresses from thrift stores and wearing their hair in braids threaded with feathers. Jace wasn’t sure exactly when she started hanging out with Simon, but it wasn’t long after that. Sometimes, Jace saw the vampire slipping out of the Institute naked and he didn’t think it had anything to do with shape-shifting.

Jace didn’t want to say that it was all because of Clary, but it certainly felt that way. 

As for him, well, things couldn’t be better.

…

It was raining in New York. That meant that Isabelle was going out shopping, carrying a big umbrella and wearing her highest-heeled boots for stepping through freight-sized puddles, and Alec would be going to Magnus’s flat to enjoy the romanticism of a multi-colored magical fire. It also meant that Jace would not be sticking his nose out into this weather. Like a cat, he loathed New York in the rain. It wasn’t even that the sky was the color of gun-metal and everything smelled like wet garbage, he just hated to damp. 

Lucky for him, Clary had decided to stay in as well. Though he suspected she remained in the Institute for an entirely different reason than the weather and he wasn’t happy to admit that the reason probably wasn’t him, either. Clary wanted to paint the view of New York in the rain from the Institute’s library. It certainly was a nice view, Jace would admit, but he didn’t think it compared to the sight of him. He skulked through the halls, crabby from the rain and from being ignored.

Needless to say, he soon found himself in the Institute’s upper training hall. Well, what better way to relieve some frustration than to beat the hell out of something that couldn’t fight back? Jace stepped into the training hall, stripped out of his shirt and shoes, slipped on some fingerless gloves and started wailing away on the punching bag.

…

It felt like an eternity before Jace gave up pacing the hallway, waiting to be noticed, and slunk off somewhere else. 

Clary had been listening to his footsteps, but had decided to ignore him early on. She wanted to paint and she knew the moment she acknowledged him, he would barrel in and put his arms around her like Prince Charming and she wouldn’t be able to get anything done. She sighed and mixed herself another swath of pale grey paint to put in New York’s skyline lit by the rain. 

The Institute was quiet, empty. She was just finishing up and beginning to wonder where Jace was when she heard the light slap-slap of his footsteps in the hall. With a smile, she wiped her paint-splattered hands on her jeans, pushed some hair out of her face, and went to the threshold to look out at him. Her breath caught and suddenly she had something entirely new that she wanted to paint.

Jace was shirtless, his strong chest and stomach shining with sweat and heaving with his breath. His muscles stood out, corded and lean. His hair was like burnished bronze, lying against his cheeks in haphazard ringlets, and his eyes were a shade of amber that spoke everything. His golden skin was marked with dark runes and ghosted with pale scars. At his throat, like a macabre necklace, was the scar she had carved into him. Even so, he was the most beautiful thing she had ever seen.

“Jace,” she murmured.

He must have heard it in her voice because he grinned and came close to her, sweeping her against his chest and drawing her mouth to his. Clary dissolved into the kiss, just like she always did, her eyes fluttering closed and her heart threatening to pound right out of her chest. Her fingers curled against his skin, roaming down the plane of his chest, and then she realized.

“Eew! Jace!” she squealed and pulled away sharply. “You’re all sweaty!”

His arms tightened around her, squeezing her flush against his chest. “You’re no prize yourself,” he teased and hooked his finger on a lock of hair that was streaked with orange paint. 

Clary held up her hand threateningly and Jace laughed before releasing her. She whirled away, flicking her hands out with disgust and then picking at the paint in her hair. Her cheeks were flushed beneath her freckles and she was so cute that Jace nearly hugged her to him again, despite knowing that she’d probably put him on his ass for it.

Instead, he said silkily, “What do you say we take a shower?”

Clary froze in the act of trying to clean the orange paint from her hair. A little tremor visibly went through her and she looked over at him, her emerald eyes wide and her cheeks flushing further. “You mean… together?” she asked softly.

Jace rolled his shoulders. “Why not? Isabelle and Alec are out. There’s no one to yell at us.” He stepped closer to her so that she could feel the heat of his body. “Plus, it’s raining,” he said as if that had anything to do with it.

Clary lifted an eyebrow, but the smile on her lips betrayed her. 

Jace smiled back, took her hand, and led her down the hall to his room. He pushed open the door, nudged Church aside with his foot, and locked the blue Persian outside. Once inside, he tried to back Clary against the door, but she pushed him back with both hands.

“You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to,” Jace said kindly.

Clary shook her head. “No, I want to. It’s just… you’re still all sweaty and I have paint in my hair.”

“It’s sexy,” he told her.

“It’s not,” she said firmly. Then, she tipped her chin up slightly, gave him just the barest brush of her lips against his, and then ducked swiftly under his arm while he was distracted. 

Jace made an indignant noise and slumped against the door. “That was a dirty trick.”

She did a palms-up. “Use what you have at your disposal, isn’t that what you always say?”

“That only counts for me,” he said.

Clary laughed and swung away from him, slipping into the bathroom. Steam poured out as she turned on the water. A moment later, she tossed her shirt out of threshold to land in a heap in the middle of Jace’s room. He couldn’t help the smile that tugged at his lips and the tightening in his pants.

Over the course of the past few months, he and Clary had shared plenty of kisses. Those kisses had transformed into long sessions of making out followed by the sweetest touches. Clary was bolder than Jace wanted to be with her. She had stroked him off several times, her fingers curling and expert, and he tried not to think about how she had gotten so skilled. Just the night before, she had slipped between his legs and wrapped her mouth around him and it was heaven on earth, but he chased away the thoughts of what her brother had said to him so long ago.

‘She’s had a lot of practice so she’s very good at it. She makes you think you’re the only one. It always gets her what she wants and she’ll do anything to get what she wants. You should feel her mouth around your cock—’

Jace didn’t want to push her. He didn’t know just how much she had gone through. It wasn’t something that she spoke about and it wasn’t anything that he wanted to ask her. Instead, he tried to just take it slowly and go at the pace she set. Though she would let him kiss her until the ends of the earth, she didn’t often let him touch her. When she did, she came undone beautifully, shuddering and soft in his arms like a beautiful flower blooming once every ten years. But usually, she pushed his hand away and chose to pleasure him instead. He wondered if that was all she thought he wanted from her, if he didn’t care for her pleasure at all. He wouldn’t blame her if she did, but…

“Jace?” Clary peeked around the edge of the bathroom and her shoulders were very naked. “What are you doing?”

“Just thinking,” he forced out.

“Is that what I smell burning?” she asked with a giggle before taking in the expression on his face. Her tone sobered as she asked, “About what?” 

“Nothing,” Jace said. “Are you ready for me to come in?”

She nodded and disappeared back into the bathroom. She had already stepped into the shower by the time Jace walked to the bathroom. Her body was obscured by the frost glass and a waft of steam, but Jace could make out the curve of her back and the swell of her breasts. He forced himself to swallow, to think nonsexual thoughts, and then get undressed. He slid open the door and stepped in with her. She had her back to him, red hair hanging in a curtain down her back. So as not to push her, Jace began to scrub himself off without looking at her.

For a moment, she kept her back to him, goose bumps breaking out all over her skin. Then, she took a deep breath and turned to face him. She had her hands closed over her breasts and her thighs squeezed together and she looked both nervous and beautiful.

“You don’t have to,” he said again.

She shook her head. “I want to.” Then, she let her hands drop and stood before him like a murderer waiting for execution. 

Jace didn’t look at her long since she was obviously so nervous about what he’d think. Instead, he pulled her into his arms, feeling every inch of her naked skin pressed against his. He turned his hips away so she wouldn’t be able to feel just how much he wanted her. She shuddered, but wrapped her arms around his back and clung to him. 

“It’s alright,” he soothed her. “It’s alright.”

She sniffled against his chest, but he couldn’t tell if she was crying through the water pouring down on her. “Jonathon always told me that I was ugly, that’s why everyone raped me… because no one could ever love—”

Jace silenced her with a kiss, swallowing all her pain. 

She laughed softly, the sound watery with tears. “Why do I always think of that?”

“Is that why you won’t let me touch you?” Jace asked.

She wet her lips, but didn’t answer. 

“Clary,” he said softly, “not to be cliché or anything, but you’re beautiful.”

She smiled at him thinly. “Thank you, Jace.” Then, she slid her hand down his chest and wrapped her fingers around him.

He sucked in a sharp breath and then, with more effort than it took to stop a train, he pushed her hand away. “Not yet,” he said. “First, let me…”

Clary looked surprised, but didn’t protest. She let Jace turn her away and watched as he reached for the bottle of shampoo and squeezed some into his palms. Then, he ran his fingers through her hair and began to work the shampoo into a rich lather. He worked at the orange paint, but it wasn’t going away anytime soon, so he moved on. She tilted her head back into his hands, sighing in bliss, as he rubbed his fingertips against her scalp. 

He finished with her hair and reached for the loofah, rubbing sweet-smelling-yet-very-manly soap into it. Then, he began to gently scrub her body. He started at her shoulders and worked his way down her arms, scrubbing the paint on her hands and beneath her fingernails. Only then did he move to her breasts and delicately wash them. He rasped the loofah over her nipples, enjoying the way she trembled and pressed back against his chest for support.

He pressed a kiss to the back of her neck and then ran the loofah down her belly. She shuddered, her entire body trembling with desire. She grasped his wrist a moment before he reached her core, halting his progression. He was about to tell her that she didn’t have to worry, that he wouldn’t hurt her, that her brother was a lying bastard, but Clary didn’t stop him. Instead, she took the loofah from his hand and dropped it aside with a small trusting smile. 

Awkwardly, Jace leaned over her shoulder to kiss her lips and his hands trailed lower. She gasped when his warm fingers touched her very core. She was soaked and it had little to do with the shower. He grinned, pressing kisses to her neck and behind her ears until she was trembling. He stroked her, his fingers pressing all around her little pearl until she was crazy with want. He wrapped his other arm around her torso to hold her up as he continued his sweet torture.

She was putty in his hands, gasping and whimpering and moaning. Then, with a cry and a shudder that wracked her entire body, she came. Pleased, Jace feathered kisses all over her neck and shoulders, nipping her earlobe as she dissolved into his arms.

He shut off the water and opened the glass door, stretching his arm out to snag a large fluffy towel. He wrapped them both within it, holding her warm naked body to his chest as she rode out the afterglow of her orgasm. He dried her arms and hair as best her could while holding her and then stepped out of the shower with her still in his arms.

“That was amazing,” she whispered.

Jace didn’t toot his own horn and instead gave her a deep kiss. He dropped the towel, gathered her up in his arms, and carried her to his bed. He laid her down and was just pulling the covers up over her, prepared to slide in beside her and just be with her, when she pressed her hand to his chest.

“What?” he asked softly.

She smiled at him and that smile spoke volumes.

“Are you sure?” 

She nodded.

Jace immediately captured her mouth in a searing kiss, his tongue darting out to tangle with hers. She giggled, her arms snaking around behind his back and her legs parted to wrap around his hips. He felt the heat of her core and nearly came just at the thought of finally being inside her, but he forced himself to hold back. 

“Clary,” he said again.

“I’m sure,” she whispered into his kiss. “I’m sure. Really.”

Jace floundered at his nightstand, trying not to break the kiss, but it was a little less romantic than he thought. 

Clary broke the kiss and looked over at his hand in the drawer. “What are you doing?”

“Looking for a condom,” he confessed.

She smiled with something too tender to be happiness. Then, she laid her hand over his wrist. “No,” she said softly. “Not this time. I want this time to be just you.”

“But what if…?” he asked, the question hanging between them. He remembered how nonchalant she had been about calling a warlock to see if she was pregnant and abort it if she was. Would she be like that if he got her pregnant? The thought was enough to make his skin go cold.

Clary shook her head softly. “Then it will be and we’ll make it work, won’t we? Most Shadowhunters die young and we should both be dead already. Life is too short,” she murmured.

Jace nodded, closed the drawer, and dipped his head to kiss her again. She took him in her hand and guided him to her very core. It was warm and wet, so soft that it just drew him in. She winced and a little hiss of pain escaped her, so quietly that Jace wasn’t sure he even heard it. 

Then, he felt it—a barrier inside her that shouldn’t exist. He had seen her raped. He had felt her body being violated when she protected him from the demon in Valentine’s office the very first time. It was impossible and yet Jace was no stranger to women and he knew exactly what he was feeling.

“Clary,” he breathed out.

She opened her eyes and looked up at him with a small smile that was between sadness and happiness. “I told you…” she whispered. “The rune heals everything. Everything, even that.”

Jace’s breath caught in his chest, his heart pounding like a drum. 

She pulled him down for a kiss that was as light and chaste as a bride’s on her wedding day. “So, let’s just pretend that this is my first time—you and me. Technically, it is anyway,” she whispered against his lips and there was true hope in her voice.

He nodded. “Of course it is,” he murmured. “Are you ready?”

“Yes,” she breathed out. 

She looked into his eyes, gold meeting emerald, as he pushed into her the rest of the way. The barrier gave way softly and Jace was inside her completely. She let out a breath that was almost like a moan and he leaned down to kiss her. She clung to him, her nails scraping along his shoulders as he moved just slightly. 

“Ooh,” she whispered. “Jace.”

He began to thrust, shallow and gentle, until he felt her muscles adjust to the intrusion. Her breasts bounced lightly, the light playing against her skin like a caress. He lavished kisses on her throat and lips, nipping and sucking softly until she was trembling beneath him. He increased his pace, tipping his head back and moaning as her muscles clenched around him. Clary leaned up and pressed her lips to the scar on his throat. He shivered, the skin there was so sensitive. She set the pace she wanted, her tongue snaking out to trace the silvery thread of his scar.

Jace thrust into her, hard and deep, until her breath exploded from her lungs. She cried out his name, her hands clutching desperately at his back, seeking some anchor in the world of pleasure that surrounded her. He reached between their bodies and rubbed her pearl, bringing her over the edge as easily as she often did to him. She screamed his name to the heavens when she came. Her muscles clenched down on him, dragging him over the edge, spilling warm and wonderful inside her. 

He collapsed on his side, pulling her to his chest as she softened inside her. She fished out the blankets and pulled them over them, snuggling against him contentedly. Her breath was light on his chest, coming in warm ragged puffs. Jace ran his fingers through her wet hair, combing out tangles as he did so.

“I love you,” he whispered into her hair.

She tensed, her heart pounding.

Jace soothed her, running his hands down her back. He always told her that he loved her, but she was unable to return the words. It didn’t really bother him, but some part of his heart wished that he could hear her say those three little words.

“Jace, I… I…”

“It’s okay,” he said gently.

She shook her head. “It’s not. I mean, I do, but I just… Valentine always told me that to love is to destroy and that to be loved is to be the one destroyed.” 

“That’s not true,” Jace said.

A little ragged sob escaped her lips as she continued, “Valentine told me to make you obedient, but… When he learned that you loved me, he said that I broke you. I don’t want to break you. I don’t want to hurt anyone, especially you, Jace.”

“Love isn’t like that, Clary,” he said gently. “I’ll teach you that.” 

Then, he dipped his head and kissed her, his tongue gently tangling with hers, pulling her in. She sighed against his mouth and twined her legs with his, feeling him inside her. He squeezed her close, sheltering her in his arms until he thought she understood. He held her for a long time, until her breath was deep and even against his skin and she had fallen asleep. Jace smiled softly and listened to the rain pattering on the window pane. 

Maybe rainy days weren’t so bad after all.

…

When Isabelle came home, damp and loaded with fantastic clothes that she couldn’t wait to show Clary, she found the Institute deserted. She called for Jace and Clary, but there was no answer. She climbed the stairs, peeking in the music and training rooms in search of them. Then, she found Church outside Jace’s bedroom door, meowing mournfully, she knew exactly what was going on. 

“Come on kitty,” she said and scooped the blue Persian into her arms. “I’ll give you some ice cream and teach you about the birds and the bees.”

Church squirmed in her arms, meowing loudly, but Isabelle brought him downstairs with her and decided to call Simon and tell him the good news. For a vampire, the kid had such a big heart and had been worried about Clary for weeks. Isabelle figured she would put his worries to rest and also gross him out as payback for sneaking out of the Institute naked.

X X X

And we are finished!

First off, drop a REVIEW and let me know WHAT you THINK! Tell me anything! Things you loved, things you hated! Things that were a disaster of epic proportions in the Mortal Instruments Universe! Tell me how much you hated it or how much you loved it! I don’t care, just tell me about it! **The final chapter is the most important one for reviews!**

Second, I own nothing except my alternate-universe-style plotline and any original characters like… you know, I don’t think there were any in this.

Third, there will be **NO SEQUEL!** So don’t even ask.

Fourth, please, check out my first ORIGINAL NOVEL! **The Breaking of Poisonwood by Paradise Avenger.** (Summary: People were dead. When Skye Davis bought me at a slave auction as a birthday present for his brother, I had no idea what my new life was going to be like, but I had never expected this. It all started when Venus de Luna was killed and I was to take her place, to become the new savior… Then, bad things happened and some people died. In the heart of the earth, we discovered the ancient being that Frank Davis had found and created and used to his advantage. The Poisonwood—)

Questions, comments, concerns?

And so, I bid you adieu.


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